Helios: Welcome.......to the Unknown

[HomeschoolCowgirl]

Ooh, yellow and green magic rings! This sounds thrillingly familiar! I can't wait for the next bit!!

[Helios]

C. S. Lewis is rolling over in his grave.

I'm not sure where to go from here. More orphanage scenes? More dream sequences? More Elf? (Elf...mm...yes, I do remember her now!)

[Helios]

I was struck by this idea while reading fanfic, and wrote it all in one afternoon.

Basically, it's an AU about Tim Drake's dad, Jack, where instead of him being a neglectful parent who found out that his son was Robin and promptly banned him from doing it, he knew all along and secretly supported Tim.

It's a bit of a stretch away from some of the other fics, where Jack is portrayed as being the dumb one, and his wife, Janet, as the smart one. (Since everyone knows Tim got his looks and brains from his mum) Anyway, it's pretty raw, so if I need to edit anything, feel free to point it out!

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters or their names. This is fanfic, and I make no profit off of it.

Birds Are Meant to Fly

He's known since the first day, when Tim saw the Graysons fall to their death. Janet was too intent on watching the blood pool around the broken bodies, too intent on making sure that little Dick Grayson went to the proper authorities. But Jack knew it, the moment Tim's eyes fixed on the Batman with that gaze, so like his mother's. So intent. So observant. So awe-inspired.

He kept an eye on his little boy after that. When they sent the photo to a grief-stricken Dick, when Tim's face lit up every time a report about Batman, and later Robin, came on TV, when the tiny child cut out pictures from the newspaper with Janet's precision and pasted them in a scrapbook.

And then, when he opened his son's bedroom door one night to discover that the youngster had slipped out. His camera, the one Janet had given him after a trip to Paris, was missing from its usual perch atop the nightstand. And Jack knew where his son had gone.

He never liked to leave Tim, but business called, and DI needed funding, and the digs were both lucrative and intriguing, and Janet convinced him with that gleam in her eye and a smile on her perfectly-painted lips. He wondered if she knew, if she saw the signs in their little boy, if she ever dared to peep inside the box where Tim kept his carefully-developed photographs. Jack didn't; he looked on them in the dark room when they were still developing and Tim slipped out to answer his mother's call.

Janet was the demanding one, the rigid one, with her rules and her etiquette and her grand plans for Tim's ascension to the throne of Drake. Tim was a good boy, an obedient boy, and he bent to her wishes like an programmed automaton instead of a human being. But while Tim had his mother's intelligence and discipline, he had his father's temperament. He preferred debate to action, acquiescence to refusal, freedom to choose as he saw fit rather than what another wanted. They had both been well-trained by Janet, of course, and followed her wishes without complaint. But at heart, they were observers, not meddlers.

Janet, for all her intelligence, didn't seem to notice Tim's obsession with Batman and Robin. It was Jack who noted how often Tim slipped out at night to stalk the objects of his admiration, Jack who casually mentioned the subject at dinner to watch Tim's expression shift from politely blank to captivated.

He followed Tim's obsession throughout the boy's preteen years, as he became older and more daring in his nighttime escapades. The quality and quantity of the pictures increased, filling whole scrapbooks that Tim hid in a loose floorboard under his bed, and that Christmas Jack bought him a new camera, a better camera. Tim flushed and thanked his father graciously, and that night Jack lay awake, listening for the soft scuffling of a window opening and closing against the bitter Gotham cold. He hoped the woolen scarf and hat he had talked Janet into buying for the boy would be appreciated as much as the camera had been.

During the months when they were away, and Tim was alone with the housekeeper, Jack kept an eye on the Gotham news, searching for articles about the Dynamic Duo and their escapades. He felt, in some abstract sense, that he and Tim had a special connection in this area, something for just the two of them. And when they returned home one summer to discover Tim bright and bursting full of some new secret, he knew his little boy had unearthed the identities of Batman and Robin. Jack never pried to find out for himself; he preferred the mystery. But if it made Tim glow like that, smile like that, breathlessly chatter about everything but that, he was content.

He and Janet were in Germany when they read about the death of Jason Todd-Wayne, adopted son of Bruce Wayne, in a warehouse fire in Sarajevo. Janet expressed bland surprise that Jason had managed to live that long without killing himself. Jack felt nothing, until he returned to Gotham and saw the downcast expression on Tim's face, the hollowness in his pale eyes. And he knew.

He said nothing to Janet. His wife, lovely and cultured and so very clever, had no use for vigilantes such as Batman. She would care nothing for Tim's hobby, except to tell him his time would be better spent studying and working on his programming. So Jack kept quiet. It was, in his opinion, not really Janet's place to tell Tim what he could and could not be interested in.

They left again a few months later, and Tim waved them goodbye with a firmness to his scrawny shoulders and a twisted smile curling his lips. Jack wanted to take the boy with them this time, but school was starting soon; it wouldn't do for Tim to miss out on his important education, Janet reasoned. Jack felt certain that Tim intended to do some things very much unrelated to school while they were gone, but he said nothing, just patted his son's shoulder and told him to be good. Tim's smile quirked up more at that, and his quiet, “I will, Dad,” made Jack's heart swell.

Later, on the plane, he wasn't sure if it was fear or pride.

The trip to Haiti turned into a complete disaster, what with Obeah Man kidnapping them and Janet getting poisoned. Batman arrived to rescue them, and Jack expressed the expected surprise, but inside, he felt only a deep satisfaction in knowing that Tim had revealed his secret to the figure he admired so greatly.

Janet's death, and his own coma, put a block on observing Tim's rise as the new Boy Wonder. He often wondered, while recuperating at the hospital, what Wayne's reaction had been to having his identity discovered by a thirteen-year-old. Jack held no ill-will toward the man; behind the playboy persona and the silly celebrity stunts, Wayne had a good heart and equally good intentions.

Of course, Jack reminded himself wryly, they pave the road to Hell with those.

When he was released back to his own house, that lonely mansion on the hill, oh-so-empty without Janet's commanding presence, he had the opportunity to observe his son with Wayne. It was obvious Tim adored Bruce, almost followed him around like a well-trained pup, and was, in turn, treated like a much-favored nephew. Jack felt satisfied that his boy was in good hands, even if they were the ethically-dubious hands of Batman. It wasn't as if he and Janet had been pillars of righteousness themselves.

He couldn't do much, with his weakened body and the wheelchair, but he enjoyed spending more time with Tim, getting to know him better. He found his son slightly stand-offish toward him, a little too protective of his own privacy, and far too hesitant to pry into Jack's thoughts. Jack let him be; he guessed that keeping a secret as big as Robin from one's own father had enough pressure on it, without Jack putting undue emphasis on knowing where his son spent his nights and why he had so many injuries.

It was a strange thing to do, watching one's son grow up through newspapers and reports, watching his interactions with his new friends and his pseudo-brother, watching him mature and expand his horizons and invent new, creative lies to cover up his activities. Jack accepted them all with perfect trust; he knew fairly well what Tim was actually doing, and it didn't bother him that his son was out there risking his life. He only wished Janet could have been there to see it, too.

When No Man's Land came, and Jack evacuated them out of the city, he felt a burst of fatherly pride that Tim disobeyed orders and sneaked back in to aid his mentor. Certainly, Jack didn't want his son in danger; but Tim was so brave, so willing, so self-sacrificing. How could anyone say no to a boy who only wanted to help?

They moved to an apartment after Gotham was rebuilt. The inner-city location made it difficult for Tim to slip out and meet Batman for nightly patrols, but Jack made sure he was never in the way of his boy's “bedtime”. He liked to wait up until Tim came back, listening for the near-silent footfalls that signaled another safe return. He never went fully to sleep until he was assured that his boy would live to see another sunrise.

Over time, he became accustomed to expecting Tim's slight tread creaking down the hall at four am. It was only one morning, when he failed to detect any noise at all, that he realized something was wrong. He went immediately to his son's room and left a moment later, dismayed to find it empty. Tim never stayed out this late without some well-crafted excuse about friends or school activities. Despite the early hour, he called Wayne Manor, asking if they had seen his boy.

It would have been a dead giveaway that he knew the secret, if Tim hadn't made a habit of spending the night there on the weekends. Jack suspected they were working on cases or ninja arts or whatever Wayne did in his hidey-hole. The butler, Alfred, confirmed that “Master Timothy” was indeed on the premises, and apologized for any worry he might have caused his father. The boy had simply lost track of time while visiting with Master Richard, and they would return him soon.

Dick was the one who dropped Tim off, and Jack was waiting for them at the door. He noticed then, with something of a shock, how relaxed Tim looked with the older boy, how he seemed to withdraw and cocoon himself the moment he saw Jack. It was a strange sensation, to see his son transform from a boy into a corpse in front of him.

And he wondered, not for the first time, how much strain Tim was under from the weight of his secrets.

And that's when he realized, just as he had that night at the circus, that Tim would never be satisfied with a life as Jack Drake's heir. His boy was too smart, too strong, too clever for the mundane world of business politics. He needed more, strove for more, and the environment provided by Wayne was far better at giving it to him than the one Jack offered.

He spent weeks thinking the matter over from every possible angle, trying to find a way for him to keep his son and yet allow Tim to fly as the Robin he so desperately needed. Jack was not a strategic thinker, like Janet had been; in college he played football, but only as a lineman, never as anyone who had to make a split-second decision. It took him a while to think things through, but he did it thoroughly and deeply.

In the end, he realized that the best thing to do, the only thing to do, is to let nature take its course, let Tim become the Robin he represents.

It's time for the baby bird to leave the nest.

So now Jack sits, quietly waiting in his apartment, with the gun across his lap and the will carefully signed and sealed and secured in his safe. Wayne will be good for his kid, he knows. Wayne will help Tim succeed, help him grow into the man he should be, the man he's destined to be.

Jack has no desire to get in the way of that.

He reflects back on everything he's done with Tim, the life they've lived together, both before Janet and after her. It's been good, he decides, as good a life as he could have hoped for. Tim, the light of his life, his pride and joy, his only son—Tim will continue to live on, to grow, to thrive, to transform into a man.

He wishes he could see it. But Jack knows he only holds Tim back.

He's always known, from that first day, when he was restraining his four-year-old from leaping down the seats to chase after a mysterious figure in a black cape.

Jack is a man with his feet on the ground, his hands in the dirt.

And Tim—beautiful, intelligent, wise beyond his years—Tim is meant to fly.

So Jack waits, his finger on the trigger, his heart calm despite the knowledge that he is about to die. He hears the breaking of the front door, the footsteps of the villain he hired expressly for this purpose, the rustling as the man hones in him.

Jack closes his eyes.

And pulls the trigger.

Author's Note: While this is an AU, it mainly follows the events that unfold in A Lonely Place of Dying and Identity Crisis. I left out Young Justice, the Teen Titans, and War Games because I know very little about them, and they would have distracted from the main point, which is Jack's observations of his son.

[Ameraka]

I caught up after being away for a while. Yay! You're back! I'm glad I returned to find you've written more of your stories. I can't get enough of them! You really need to publish someday (if you haven't yet). I can picture reading these in a book or ebook instead of on this message board.

Your most recent story--I am not really familiar with the Batman universe except the Dark Knight trilogy but it was wonderful, as usual. And also very sad. I wasn't expecting that ending.

[Helios]

Man, I would love to publish Fugitive's Quest; it's just so raw right now, and I've only got sixteen chapters. *facepalms* And to think I once had visions of grandeur. LOL

I hope the ending to the Batman one doesn't come across as suicide? I wrote it ambiguously on purpose, because that's part of the fun, but I realized later that it sounds...suspect. Not that I don't believe Jack wouldn't commit suicide for his son (and is THAT a dark thought or what?).

Aaaaaaaand more of Elf Girl. Or should I call her Ashlyn?

Date: February 3, 4092
Location: Entering Jupiter's Throne
Time: 12:00 noon by Apollo's Chrono (09:32 AM by Jupiter's Chrono)

Jupiter.

The jewels of the crown. The pinnacle of the one hundred and thirty-four planets within the United Councils of Armonia. The heart and center of the Adýnamos Galaxy, which is vastly underrated in terms of size and number of planets (in public opinion, anyway).

In short, Jupiter's the head Toméa, the big cheese. The really good, aged wine in the back of the cellar.
Speaking of wine, I once tasted some old cooking brandy the chef would use in the palace kitchen. It was terrible. Never touched anything remotely resembling alcohol since.

“Pretty impressive from up here, huh?” Lexi says, snapping me from my shudder of remembrance over the cooking brandy.

“Yeah, pretty cool.”

We're approaching one of the seventeen planets located within the sector of Jupiter. Ten are under the auspices of the United Councils of Armonia, and these are referred to as chartered planets. The other seven are numbered planets, meaning they have their own system of government and aren't controlled by the UCA. There's always been tension between the chartered and numbered planets in every Toméa, and even between different Toméas, but the wars are a thing of the past.

The main problem right now is that several anti-UCA groups located on the numbered planets have been stirring up small skirmishes and rebellions during the past few months. These groups operate in secret, mostly, but every now and then one of their members will get their identity blown, resulting in a manhunt as the unfortunate soul flees from planet to planet, hoping to evade capture.

That's basically the situation I'm in right now. Except, of course, I'm not associated with any of the rebel groups. I'm in a class all my own.

“...Blood is always willing to help a fellow fugitive. Watch for the emirl ship under the name Oliver Askyer...”

The words rush through my ears like the whisper of a wind, here one minute and gone the next. I snatch at the memory but miss it, and all that's left is an impression of a familiar face beside the crimson skin of the ship Buck and I left behind on Hecate Arrow.

That's...impossible. I can't be remembering that—it never happened! The emirl ship can't be from...from...

Who? I don't remember. Closing my eyes, I try to picture the face beside the ship, but the image blurs and then weeps itself into nothing. Soon, even that brief impression is gone, leaving an unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach. I should know what that quote means, I'm sure of it! But I can't...remember...

The radio in my headset crackles with the voice of the traffic-controller stationed on the nearest moon, Io. “Damocles 343, you are cleared for entrance to Jupiter's Throne air-space, sector 00573-D. Transferring command of your flight to the traffic-controllers at the Port of the Golden Air.”

“Acknowledged, Io-control. Much obliged.” I speak the words automatically, having done this a hundred times before. Buck usually flies whenever we're together, but I've got plenty of flight-time in my logbook as well.

“Damocles 343?” Lexi quizzes. “Is that what we're calling ourselves?”

“That's the title of the ship,” I explain. “Damocles is the registered name. The 343 is just part of the numbering system they use to keep track of all the ships called Damocles.” I don't mention that 343 is also the number I assigned myself to help Buck keep track of me. I always make sure that, somewhere in my ID papers or my ship's registration numbers, there's a 343.

Date: February 3, 4092
Location: Port of the Golden Air
Time: 12:30 noon by Apollo's Chrono (10:02 AM by Jupiter's Chrono)

“This place is huge,” Lexi announces. She's pulling a baggage carrier containing our trunk as we attempt to maneuver through the crowded space-port in search of an exit. There's people everywhere, moving in practically every direction—usually the ones contrariwise to ours. I'm in front, forging a path for Lexi to follow.

She's right—this place is enormous. Gigantic. Big enough for a dozen regular-sized space-ports to fit into. I think the only ports bigger than Jupiter's are the ones in Mercury, which is the Toméa in which most of the transporting and trafficking are done. I've never seen them myself, but this one here on Jupiter Throne is probably close to it. The walls are made of some kind of metal that gleams like bronze, and the floors are beaten brass. Anything the light hits reflects a warm, golden glow like sunlight. It actually smells like gold in here, come to think of it.

“Where are we headed, Ashlyn?” Lexi asks, leaning in to speak into my ear because of the babble rising and falling all around us.

“After we get outside,” I shout back, “we need to find a hotel to stay in. Start our search after we've had a rest.”

In a few minutes we break free of the crowds inside the port and find ourselves enmeshed in the crowds outside. It's a little easier to maneuver here, however, because traffic is more regulated than it was inside. The streets are broad and well-defined, full of ground vehicles that zip across the pavement and air-trams that travel twenty feet above the ground. Pedestrians are confined to the sidewalks and corner-crossings, and everyone on the ground level is heading in the same direction. Above us, level with the air-trams, is a second sidewalk that carries people in the opposite direction that we're heading.

“Very well-organized,” I remark to Lexi, still raising my voice to be heard. “I don't feel as if I'm about to be run over anymore. But let's get into one of the alcoves so we can catch our breath.”

I snagged a free map earlier while inside the port, and once partially shielded from the crowd in our little alcove, I plug the tiny data chip into a hand-held nav-com and bring up a list of the nearest hotels. Most of them are too high-profile for our purposes, so I scroll further down until I find a likely prospect. It's a bit of a walk from our location, but worth it, I hope.

“This one,” I tell Lexi, showing her the nav-com. “The Argent Royal. Ever heard of it?”

She shakes her head. “I'm not familiar with Jupiter's Throne. I've only been to Jupiter's Rings in the past few years.”

“It's a bit off the beaten path, so to speak, but not too far. Besides, it's not favored by the law enforcement here. Bit of a rough neighborhood.”

“Is that—safe?”

I shrug. “Yeah, kind of. You just have to know what you're dealing with. Now come on—we can ditch the carrier and haul the trunk ourselves. It's not too heavy.” I heft my briefcase into the air as I speak.
“Says you.” She grunts as she lifts the chest, then straightens her back to counter-balance the weight.

“Couldn't you have picked something that rolls?” I ask quizzically.

Lexi mock-glares at me. “We were moving pretty fast to get off of Hecate Arrow. I didn't have time to think it through.” Her face twists unexpectedly, and I see a hint of some deep emotion churning inside of her. The expression is gone as quickly as it comes, leaving me with the sensation of having peaked for a second into a ship's crystal drive. It always makes me see black suns orbiting my head.

Our trek to the Argent Royal takes us through the outskirts of the city, which I think is named Golden Air after the port, but I can't be sure. It's been over two years since I was here last, with Buck and an acquaintance of ours. I don't remember why we came here or who we were with, only that we stayed a few weeks and then left. The memory is kind of hazy.

The city is beautiful, of course. Every city in the Jupiter Toméa is beautiful, but each one always give you the impression of being the most beautiful one yet. Golden Air is just like its name—towers and columns and pillars made of bronze that shines like gold, brightly-polished air-trams zipping through the air above us, and multicolored flits dipping low over the heads of the people on the upper-walks. It's hard to see far in any one direction because the towers are so tall. I think every building in Golden Air has at least ten stories—maybe more. The sky is a narrow slight of pale blue that's barely visible through the tram-lines, sidewalks, and swooping flits that crisscross above us. And this is just on the outskirt of Golden Air. I don't want to imagine how crowded and gleaming it is at the very center, where the Town Hall is located.

We arrive at the Argent Royal and check in using our false IDs and whatever ayae creds I can siphon from an untraceable account that Buck and I set up a few months ago. We have stashes of cash hidden all over the Adýnamos Galaxy, but occasionally we have to close an account that's gone stagnant or gotten too much attention. Normal people don't have to have multiple bank accounts with unusual amounts of money in them. Fugitives do.

“This is nice,” Lexi observes, plunking the chest into one corner of our room and running to the window.

The view is of the hotel swimming pool, five stories below us. I picked a room that's close enough to the ground for a quick escape, yet high enough that it'll be hard for anyone to climb up to us.

“It's a lot nicer than I'm used to.” I flop onto the bed and rub my back absentmindedly.

The bruise is bothering me after the long walk, and I want to soak in the bathtub for at least an hour. Not to mention my hair feels scummy, courtesy of the bleach I used on it, and my eyes ache from the unfamiliar contact of the fake lenses against my irises.

The room is lovely, I'll admit. Maroon carpet, gold-hung walls, twin beds with real sheets—not cots like Buck and I are used to—and a full bath adjacent to the main area. The room's bigger than my little cell at Hendricks or the safe-house dorm that Buck and I stayed in that fateful night, over a day ago.

Has it really been just yesterday that everything happened? It feels like weeks, months even. I keep trying not to think of Buck, but every now and then he'll pop back in and tap my shoulder. It's hard enough to focus on what I need to do to keep Lexi and myself alive; I can't afford to worry about him as well. He can take care of himself, like he always has.

Like he was supposed to do for me.

Lexi turns from the window. “So, what's next on our agenda?”

I straighten my back reflexively. “I guess we go to the nearest public information center and start looking. I need to get an update on the hunt for me, plus see if anyone's tracked us here.”

“How are we gonna tell if they know that?”

“I'll hack the system.” I smirk at her frown. “How else? That's the only way to get insider information anyway, which is the type we want.”

“They'll know if you're hacking. They'll figure out we're here.”

“No biggie. People hack the system all the time. And I'm hot stuff right now. Everyone will be trying to get the goods on me. The cyber-security people won't even know I'm in.”

Lexi finally agrees to the idea, though I can see she has her doubts. I've got them, too, but I can't afford to talk about them out loud. She's got enough worries already; I have to keep these to myself.

“I'm going out now,” I tell her. “You lay low and get some rest. Depending on what I find, we may have to be moving quickly.”

“Ha.” She gives a half-laugh. “That's the way it's been since the massacre. Never slows down.”

“No.” I frown, grasping at a memory that threatens to surface. It disappears after a moment, leaving only the faintest impression of its presence. “I guess it never does.”

BTW, I posted a lengthy piece in http://odysseyscoop.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=12&t=2921

[Ameraka]

I like your descriptions of the city. It's too bad that she's separated from Buck. Looking forward to the next one as always!

What is Fugitive's Quest?

Hm, I actually thought it was suicide.... If I knew his character/the story better I might think otherwise.

[Helios]

Oh, the anxiety! Couples are best when they are apart. Or something.

Fugitive's Quest is the same thing as Elf Girl. Took me a while to find a suitable name, and then I plumb forgot to tell anyone.

Keep in mind, it is an AU. In the actual story, Jack was killed by a gunman hired by the ex-wife of another superhero. *blinks* I can't believe that makes sense to me. Their world is so jacked up. So in my version, I'm picturing Jack as shooting the intruder HE hired to kill him. Of course, Jack is intending to die, so he doesn't care who kills him as long as he winds up dead. *blinks again* Man, I need therapy.