Chapter Text
CHAPTER 1:
The Seeker and The Exiled
The Force resides in all living things. It is both born and transformed constantly. He can feel it running through his veins. He can hear its call inside his mind and heart. Bruce cherishes and breathes it in.
Back when Master Al-Fred accepted him as his Padawan and taught him the ways of the Force, Bruce had been gloomy and reckless, buried in grief and bitterness. He'd missed his dead parents almost every single day, for years; from the moment he awoke to the one he went to rest, misunderstanding his actual duty, his unparalleled purpose to the galaxy.
But Al-Fred had been kind and understanding; an exceptional Master in all its meaning. He never complained to the Council about Bruce's explosive behavior like other Jedi instructors did when Bruce had been an Initiate. Al-Fred had truly cared. He had been like a father to him.
Yet, like everything else he's ever had, Bruce had taken him for granted.
Ever since Al-Fred died, Bruce has been trying to reach him through the Force; to reach his force ghost and have a talk with him. The Force knows Bruce needs it. Bruce knows he needs it. Nowadays, it isn't rare for him to feel alone, adrift, and submerged in his own regrets; everything a Jedi is not supposed to feel or be.
In a way, he always knew he wasn't made to be a Master. He never had the patience it required, the sensitivity, the confidence... But, back when he had turned twenty years old, fresh back from the war against the Empire, Master Jim Gordon disagreed with him and assigned him to his first apprentice, Dick Grayson.
Dick was a powerful and unique Padawan; a boy that he had cared for very, very much. But he also had been the clear proof of Bruce's lack of wisdom throughout his seven years of training. He, the so-called Master, had been the reason for Dick's sudden goodbye. There had been no other explanation. There still isn't.
These days he tries to not think too much about that. About Dick finding him lacking as a Master, so lacking that he couldn’t wait another year to be proclaimed a Jedi Knight before leaving.
When everyone in the Temple was blaming him for Dick's abandonment of the Order—and they were right to do so—his Master had assigned him another Padawan. Because even when Bruce had made the most utterly worse mistakes, Al-Fred kept believing in him.
His second apprentice had been truly exceptional.
Dick had been too, but Jason Todd gave the use of the Force a whole new meaning. He could harness it in a way that seemed easy, almost natural, at the young age of twelve. His training had gone smoothly, and fast, and Bruce had felt reborn when teaching him. Al-Fred died of old age a year after Jason’s training began, but Bruce kept moving on, finding hope and solace in his second apprentice. And even though Bruce was never able to see Al-Fred's ghost, Jason could, and that had been enough for him.
To have Jason as his Padawan allowed Bruce to redeem himself from the mistakes he'd made as Dick's Master. But then, the worst that could've happened, happened.
Alf-Fred had been physically gone for four years when Jason—the then seventeen-year-old Knight known widely as the Chosen One—died thanks to Bruce's incompetence. Not even because Jason had been Al-Fred's last try, last wish, Bruce had taken right care of him.
It hadn't been surprising when he wasn't able to talk to Jason's force ghost either.
It's been almost two years since Jason's death, and almost six since Al-Fred's, and Bruce still can't reach the most important people he once had. A part of him knows why he can't make contact; Bruce is not a good Jedi. This is the Force letting him know. This is the Force rejecting him.
It still hurts, right inside his very soul, to know that he isn't worthy to reach his Master or his second apprentice; and that the one apprentice he still has wants absolutely nothing to do with him.
Bruce breathes in.
That course of thought will get him nowhere. If anything, he's just getting more frustrated—which is the last thing he wants to be right now.
He tries to concentrate once again. It takes a few minutes before his mind goes blank and his limbs go numb. He breathes in, and out, in, and out, just like Al-Fred had taught him, back when they lived in the Temple.
"Desperation will get you nowhere, young Padawan. You have to free your mind from loud thoughts. You have to breathe in and wait, until nothing but you and the Force coexist."
Then, the Force welcomes him. It's like taking a breath of fresh air. His mind swims through nice, heart-warming memories.
Bruce hears Al-Fred's native accent and sees his gentle eyes. He pictures Dick's fierce grin and the way he used to make himself the most important padawan in the room. Bruce remembers a young Jason, both turbulence and curiosity glinting from his eyes, searching for guidance.
He feels a tingle, a full-body shiver. This is it, Bruce thinks, taking a deep breath before asking no one in particular:
"Master?"
No answer.
But the Force is strong and demanding. Something urgent bubbles up around him, trying to gain his attention.
"Master Al-Fred?" He asks once again, a brush of anxiety curling in his tone.
(Something isn't right.)
Bruce calmly exhales, letting go of the connection with a bittersweet longing inside his mind, and opens his eyes.
He must try again.
(Something isn't right.)
And he does, but his Master still doesn't answer.
(*)
Several weeks later, someone interrupts his daily meditation, knocking on his door. Bruce gets up from the ground, trying to maintain a hint of relaxation— something is very wrong —that he no longer finds in himself.
Before opening the door, he thinks that it must be the man who often sells him fresh food.
But then, Bruce senses it.
It's blue. Bright blue. It's abrasive and self-confident. It's everything Bruce had taught, every knowledge Al-Fred had passed, and something else he can't quite identify.
Dick's signature with the Force.
His Padawan is back.
His first Padawan is knocking on his door.
Bruce gets a grip on himself, and on his emotions, and opens the door with a neutral look on his face. He wishes for wisdom and direction. He wishes his Master was still here.
He hadn't expected to see a tall, grown man. Dick's blue eyes are stern, preoccupied, and old. He doesn't look like the child Bruce remembers.
Dick Grayson is not a child anymore.
He doesn’t have his Padawan braid either and Bruce tries not to think about it—about Dick, far away from home, getting rid of it alone.
"Bruce," Dick says as a form of greeting, gripping the collar of his cloak tightly, nervously.
He finds himself speechless, still drowning in his thoughts. He blinks once, twice, until Dick almost gives a step back, and it's only then that he snaps out of his trance, replying:
"Dick," and it's evident he hasn't said that name out loud for years. Bruce clears his throat. "Is everything alright? Are you hurt?"
He is concerned. Dick's pinched eyebrows—nor the wave of uncertainty he's currently emanating—don't help his current state.
"Bruce," he repeats, sounding tired. His voice is deeper now. "I need your help."
Bruce is nodding firmly before he knows it, "Come on inside."
Dick enters, briefly looking around him before crossing his arms over his chest and resting his eyes on Bruce's face. The older man closes the door slowly, wondering what's this about. Their force bond as Master and Padawan is still there. Bruce can feel it, weak and barely alive, but still there. That, somehow, makes him exhale in relief.
"It's a Sith matter," Dick doesn't ask for a seat or a drink. He's all business, now sounding more confident and matter-of-factly.
He can't help but frown, taken aback, “The Sith were defeated long ago.”
His former Padawan knows that story. Bruce and Al-Fred used to tell it all the time, about how they managed to defeat Sith Lord Darkseid and his apprentice Deathstroke, save a baby and a group of Metas the Sith Lord had nearly experimented on, and rescue the whole galaxy. In that same order.
Everyone in the Temple used to talk wonders about them.
Bruce hadn’t been able to live to the expectations.
Dick seems to falter for a second before replying, “I believe he’s some unknown second apprentice of Darkseid. At first, it was a mere rumor in the galaxy, but then the sightings and the attacks started. People described him as a ruthless user of the Force. He destroyed several uninhabited Jedi outposts around the galaxy and killed a prominent number of our Meta troops in Themyscira and Atlantis a few weeks ago."
"Why am I being informed about this now?" Bruce is suddenly upset.
"You're the one who chose exile, Master,” Dick's words hit him right in the chest, like a phantom punch. “And I'm not here on the Republic's behalf. I just stumbled upon the information and decided to take matters into my own hands.”
"What is his name?" he asks at last.
Dick doesn't seem surprised by his deflection. "Darth Red. Probably around my age from the footage we've seen. He covers his face with a red helmet. We have no idea where he's from."
"Well, he is a Sith. It’s not their style to go around announcing their personal information."
His former Padawan simply nods, although he looks like he wants to roll his eyes.
Bruce repeats Dick's words in his head. "You said "we"?"
"Yes. My Padawan and my team of Renegades. They are on this quest with me."
The words, “You can't have an apprentice,” leave his mouth before Bruce can stop himself, immediately sensing defensiveness from Dick.
“That's your take on all of this?”
"Did the Council approve it?" Dick doesn't answer. "You didn't even finish your training."
You left me, Bruce doesn't say, trying to fight the selfish thoughts and emotions. You left me a year before your official Knighting.
"Bruce," Dick raises his eyebrows, mocking, "Are you serious?"
"We follow rules," Bruce replies, crossing his arms too. "You can't go around taking force-sensitive younglings under your wing without supervision. You haven't been Knighted. You…"
"Didn't finish my training, yeah, you've already said that," Dick eyes him, almost angrily. He inhales and exhales loudly. "Look. If you're going to focus on that instead, I can't do this. I don't even know why I bothered coming here."
"You're right," Bruce snaps. "You should have gone to Kal-El instead. The Supreme Chancellor's approval and profits would’ve helped you a lot more."
Dick huffs in annoyance before taking a step back. He looks ready to bolt.
He doesn't. Dick plants both feet on the ground. "Why are you doing this, hm? Why are you suddenly acting like a coward?"
Bruce grits his teeth. "I kindly suggest you stop talking, young man."
"I won't, Master," and Dick says the word sarcastically again. "I won't leave until you stop licking your own wounds like a martyr."
The older man looks at his left side, breathing deeply.
"I know our history wasn't that good. I know I left my training. I know I was…" Dick clenches his jaw. "I know nothing was good enough. I've always known that. And I know you've made mistakes. I know about Jason Todd."
Bruce flinches at his words.
"But this isn't about you. This isn't about how many times you've failed. This isn't about your refusal to fight again. This is not even about me." Dick looks into his eyes, "This is about innocent Metas being killed, Bruce. About our troops being decimated one by one by the enemy. I need the Master I knew back then. I need you to face this with me. To help me."
The "please" doesn't leave Dick's lips but he looks at Bruce like he'd just said the word.
Bruce sighs in defeat, suddenly feeling his age.
He is old. Very tired. Very unworthy.
"I'm not the man you used to know," he replies at last, looking anywhere except his former Padawan's eyes.
"You are," but Dick refutes, tenacious and bull-headed, just like Bruce remembered him. "You've always been kind of dramatic."
The older man suppresses a smile. It was always that easy to smile, with Dick by his side.
Something shifts in the Force. Everything around him feels lighter. Easier.
"Come on, Bruce," Dick insists, gesturing around them, "I cannot let you rot here. You are a Jedi Master. A General. The Republic needs you. We need you."
He doesn't argue, and instead lets a pause fall over them before asking, "How did you find me?"
Dick smiles gently, delicately. "You always talked about enjoying your retirement in Gothica."
Bruce blinks, his throat contracting at the thought of old, simpler days, “I did.”
"And the Force guided me," Dick adds, blue eyes shining with reassurance, "Our force bond guided me here, to you. That must mean something, Bruce. It does to me."
The Force… It never makes mistakes. Only its users harness it incompetently.
Maybe his Padawan was never made an official Knight, but he hardly ever committed mistakes when using the Force. Bruce knows that much.
"What's his name, again?"
Dick smiles triumphantly for a beat before bitterly stating, "Red. His name is Darth Red."