Nightly Chat
Another day meant another night, and another night meant another chance to go get some info on the League of Assassins. As he put on his homemade league outfit he had to admit that even if he was doublecrossing them, there was thrill in not being the hero for once. It was a nice outlet for his anger, something he seemed to have more than enough of in recent days.
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“Another day means another night. And another night means another chance to catch that wannabe Grayson.”
“It’s more complicated than that Dami.”
“Tch. Say what you must, he is no match for you.”
“I’m not so sure. He got away from me once, hell, he got away from Bruce. And he is, quite literally, a match for my DNA.”
“Do not tell me you are quitting the chase!”
“Of course not, just calling for a change in tactics.”
The pair were settled on their two favorite gargoyles, looking out from the clocktower and over the city. These gargoyles were their favorites both because they existed right on the clocktower, above one of their safe havens as it were, and because these two face the river and the bay. And even as polluted as Gotham was, as dark and dingy as it seemed, there was nothing that could take away the beauty of starlight reflected on the glassy sheen of the water.
Dick could get lost in this view, if he had the time. He’d done exactly that before, when he was much younger and still called Robin. Back when he would still share a gargoyle with Bruce. It gave him a sense of what he was fighting for, why they came out night after night to try and save this cursed city.
The subtle clunk of a hook attaching to the gargoyle on the next corner over from him snapped him out of this reverie, and with a hand he signaled Damian to be silent. The sound was soon followed by the whir of a grappling gun pulling in its user before in a flash the silhouette of a young man swung over the gargoyle and sat there.
Dick pressed against the wall of the clocktower, unable to believe his luck as he stared at their newest problem, the not-quite-imposter Richard Grayson sitting on the gargoyle across from him. He could just barely make out the mumbling of the kid as he seemed to speak to himself.
“Well, you’re not quite as pretty as Bruce but I suppose you’ll make a fine replacement.”
Bruce? Why was this kid talking about Bruce? First he calls himself Richard Grayson, now he’s looking for a replacement Bruce?
“So let's see then. Since the last time I talked to Bruce a lot’s happened, but I don’t suppose you care about anything before I came here. I mean this is your city after all, don’t care much for anything outside it.”
Was he talking to the gargoyle? That can’t be healthy.
“Sooo… Maybe I’ll just give you the short list. Came to the city, got kidnapped by some weird cult, made a few friends in my daily life, joined the weird cult, had to steal to prove myself to the weird cult, got assigned nothing to do tonight from the weird cult, and never thought I’d say weird cult so many times so quickly in my life.”
Well that wasn’t very uplifting. Still, there was a nugget of new information in that. It seemed that when Tim had first seen this kid was when this kid had been kidnapped. He wasn’t part of the league yet. Worryingly, that left it up to the imagination to figure out what they had done to get him to join them. Maybe he should-
“Still. Gotta do what you gotta do, right Bruce? Brucie? Bruce 2? 2-ce? Eh we’ll figure it out eventually. Point is, someone’s gotta be the man on the inside for those weirdo bats. Though I suppose I don't have much room to talk... Anyway, just gotta find a way to tell them without breaking my cover or having them try to arrest me. Can never be easy, can it?”
That’s what he was trying to do? No wonder he kept insisting they didn’t have to be enemies. Still, that was a ludicrous amount of risk for the kid to put himself through for their sake. And all of this still didn’t explain one thing, the kid was clearly extremely well trained. Though if he says the league kidnapped him, then the question becomes, trained by whom? Even the league couldn’t have trained him up that well in a matter of what, a day? Two?
That’s it. He was the one calling for a change of tactics in the first place, time to put his words into action.
“You know, you’re not the only one that likes to hang out high up in this city.”
Damian was looking at him like he was crazy, the not-quite-imposter (god they needed to come up with a better name for him) only barely looked over his shoulder, seeming more confused than anything. All while Dick felt like maybe he was in fact crazy for this, but he had to try.
“Huh? When did you-? Normally I would notice something like that…” The kid twisted around like a contortionist before eventually settling into a lying position on the back of the gargoyle, feet kicked up onto its head. “More importantly… you’re not gonna try and fight me again, are you?”
“That entirely depends on you.”
“Thanks, real reassuring.” The kid rolled his eyes. “So what does it depend on, hm? You want answers? You want me to leave the city? Something in between?”
“Answers would certainly be a start.”
The imposter hesitated for a moment, before looking away from Dick and up to the sky, nodding.
“Alright then, ask and we’ll see if I feel like answering.”
“What’s your name?”
“Richard Grayson. I can say it every time we meet if that helps with your apparent memory loss.”
“What’s your real name?”
The relaxed front he was putting on began to dissolve as the kid bristled, for a moment his eyes seemed to flicker with a strange brightness.
“It’s Richard -and you’re not going to believe this- Grayson.”
“Who’s your dad then?”
“Ha! That's a question and a half. Do you want birth or adoption? I mean not technically adoption as of right now but close enough. Who am I kidding? I wouldn't give you either of their names.”
“Not quite adoption? So what… wardship?”
“Something like it at least.”
At this Dick turned to look at Damian, the almost-disbelief present on Damian’s face giving precisely the answer Dick was looking for. Confirmation that this kid’s story matched a little too closely to his own.
“Ooh, which of our friends is on the other gargoyle? Actually wait, don’t tell me. Let me guess…”
The kid (at this point “the kid” was at least a better name than “not-quite-imposter”) seemed to concentrate for a second before speaking again.
“Robin? The normal one, not red. That’s the only one that could be that small, though I am guessing your sizes from blurry shots on wikipedia so…”
Dick looked at him for a second, trying to keep the surprise off his face.
“How’d you know?”
“The same way I can normally tell when people are around or something dangerous is coming. Not sure how you got around it though…”
“And what is that way?”
“Now, now, a magician never tells his secrets.” And then more to himself than anything he mumbled, “Strange sure as hell didn’t…”
“Strange?”
“It’s a long story and not one I feel particularly talkative about right now. Anyway, are we on good terms now? Cause I kind of have to go meet up with the league now.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“Not in the slightest, how else am I supposed to feed you information? I mean I caught on to your little spy back when I was tied to a chair, I think they’d be able to when they’re not.”
“You know I can’t let you go.”
“And you know you can’t stop me. So if it’s all the same to you-”
“It most assuredly is not ‘all the same’!” Damian said, grappling around to the gargoyle on the kid’s other side.
“He speaks! Sucks it’s not the thing I wanted to hear but at least it’s a start!”
“Why do you put on this act? Why do you claim the name Richard Grayson?!”
“Act? I haven’t the foggiest what you mean, I’m always this cheery! And I claim the name because it’s my name. Well it was supposed to be.”
He may have said he was ‘cheery’ but he certainly wasn’t acting it. And that uncanny brightness in his eyes was only growing brighter, more green-tinged. Knowing the symptoms of pit rage when he saw them, Dick was honestly a little impressed with how level headed this kid had managed to stay, even if his words were laced with anger.
“Look, I’m sorry to do this kid, but we’re taking you in.”
“And I’m sorry to do this-” In a flash the kid had used his unnatural flexibility to twist around the gargoyle, going from a lying position atop it to suddenly below it, dropping down about half the height of the clocktower before pulling out his grappling gun and beginning to swing away. Damian immediately gave chase but Dick soon caught up to him. Tonight they’d let the kid have his space. Chasing him a few blocks they slowly let more distance grow between them before ultimately letting him get away.
“You’re letting him get away? Letting him report to the league and get further into whatever trouble he’s wrapped up in?” Damian crossed his arms, almost glaring at Dick. “What do you call that?!”
“A change in tactics.”
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“Might I suggest you lay down for the evening, Master Bruce?”
“Alfred-”
“I thought not. In that case, would you do me the kindness that is pacing on the other side of the kitchen?”
Bruce looked up at Alfred, who had one eyebrow cocked as he met Bruce’s gaze.
“Yeah, sorry Alfred.”
“No apologies needed, sir.”
Taking his pacing to the other side of the kitchen he brought his hands back up to his face. Rubbing his temples he went over the information he had once again, trying to make it make sense.
A new kid was in Gotham. How he got here or why he’s here are both currently unknown. What is known as that he’s thrown his lot in with the League of Assassins. Specifically with Talia’s offshoot of the league which puts him at odds with Ra’s al Ghul. The kid was well trained, exceedingly so, and has some sort of meta abilities. The exact nature of which is unknown. The kid has also decided to take the name Richard Grayson. Why? Unknown. This imposter Richard was also strangely apologetic about taking that name, and asked him to keep watch over the real Richard Grayson. Why? Unknown. He claims to be playing both sides, maybe even leaning towards helping them, but can he be trusted? Unknown. And now it’s been discovered that the kid has the exact genetics of the real Richard Grayson with strange additions added to it. Perhaps that’s the answer to his meta abilities but it brings along far more questions than it answers. Why does his DNA match? Is he a clone? A shapeshifter? Some strange experiment? He’s got the symptoms of using a lazarus pit, but did he do it on purpose or did the league do it to him. The answer to all of which was-
Unknown unknown unknown. There were far too many unknowns. It had been a long time since a case had put him at this much of a loss, and now it was involving his family. He needed answers, answers he wasn’t getting.
“I don’t suppose you’ve thought of just asking Lady Talia, Master Bruce?”
“Alfred you know-”
“Of course you hadn’t. Must it always be your last effort to simply talk to those who might have your answers?”
“She’s already up to her neck in danger, the last thing she’ll have time for is a lovely chat.”
“It seems to me sir, if you’ll pardon my saying, that that is entirely up to her to decide. Now unless you want a half-mopped kitchen I must suggest you get on about it, or at least move your pacing elsewhere once again.”
“I…” After a moment’s hesitation he just sighed. “Thanks, Alfred.”
“My pleasure, sir.”