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Disclaimer: Sadly, Dick Grayson isn't owned by me. DC has that privilege. DC owns most of the characters in this story. All I own is the distinctive way the story unfolds, the specific dialogue and unique situations. (g) No money is being made from this. Please don't sue. It wouldn't be worth your while.
FOR YOUR INFORMATION: The young man I have used to represent Dick is an actor named Eric Close. This photo is from the 1990s. You may recognise him from the hit show "Without A Trace". He played Martin.
WARNING: There are a number of spelling, grammar and punctuation differences between Australia and the USA... please forgive me for writing with an accent. (g)
When Heroes Grieve
Arsenal followed Robin across the rooftops. The teenager was agile but lacked the fluidity Roy was used to seeing from 'Robin'. Grayson had been an acrobat without peer...Grayson had been the most incredible man Roy had ever known. Cries from below drew Roy's attention. Gotham was out of control. Batman's apparent death had been a red flag to a bull for every ciminal in the city.
"According to Oracle, we're only about..." The beeping of Robin's communicator distracted him. Arsenal welcomed the pause. Tim was setting a rapid pace and leaping from building to building was not something Roy enjoyed. Arsenal glanced down at his watch and shook his head. He honestly didn't know how Tim and Dick did it. Work all day and then work all night.
Out of the corner of his eye, Arsenal caught sight of Robin's face, the limited light from the street lamps below illuminating it. The teenager was staring wide-eyed down at the words that had appeared in the screen of his small communicator.
"Something wrong?" Roy asked.
Tim lifted his face and handed the communicator to Roy.
Arsenal shrugged. "So the big black bat needs help. What of it?"
Robin blinked as he tried to assimilate the message. "He doesn't usually... I mean... Usually I just get orders. 'Report to the Manor, now'. That sort of thing. It isn't like him to..."
"Kid, I'm happy to help you, but if you think I'm going to submit to listening to any of the self-righteous garbage that comes out of Batman's mouth..."
"No, Roy. Please," Tim pleaded. "Something must be wrong. Really wrong if he's admitting that he needs help."
Arsenal studied the younger man's eyes. His anger began to boil again as an image of Dick’s face appeared in his mind. Dick looking distressed and trying to hide it from his friends, but he never could. Not from Wally, Donna and Roy. They knew him too well. There had been times when Roy had seen Dick on an emotional roller-coaster because of something Batman had said or done... like replacing him with a younger child. How could anyone be so cold-hearted? Bruce had replaced Dick both as his partner and as his son. It was the latter that had hurt Dick and left Roy fighting for control... control had never been Roy's closest friend. In that instant, Roy’s rage morphed into hatred.
"Alright, kid. Looks like I get to take care of my business sooner rather than later."
Alfred’s brow furrowed as he drove up the long driveway to the Manor. There was a glow coming from it and smoke lifting from the chimney. Pennyworth was surprised, but it was a great relief. Every night since Dick’s disappearance, Alfred had found Bruce sitting in the dark at the cross, unaware of the temperature - oblivious to the fact that he was freezing.
“Master Bruce?” Alfred called as he closed the door behind himself. The elderly man walked into the kitchen, noting the light was on and saw the apple pie sitting on the bench. Bruce had eaten! A large, well stacked fire was crackling in the fireplace too. Pennyworth’s face lit up with a smile from his soul. Somehow, Bruce had located the path back from the abyss of grief and it looked like he was starting on the return journey.
"Alfred?" The butler moved back into the entrance hall and spotted his employer at the top of the stairs. Bruce insistently beckoned Alfred up the stairs, all the while growling into the cell phone he had clutched to his ear. “Look, you said fifteen minutes. It’s been fifteen minutes...”
Alfred approached Wayne. Bruce pointed to the room beyond. “You don’t seem to understand how....”
Alfred climbed the last few steps perplexed. He could see the soft glow of the heater in the room. As he stepped up to the door, he noted the buddle under a dozen blankets. For a split second Alfred allowed himself to think that maybe... but he dismissed such a thought. Miracles didn't happen to ordinary people. He entered the room and stopped beside the bed, peering down on the face of the person that Bruce had wrapped so tightly in blankets.
Bruce shot into the room. “Shh. Let him sleep." Bruce returned to his call. "... I don’t care... Dr. Thompkins must...”
Alfred Pennyworth saw everything with absolute clarity. He spun around and wrenched the phone from Bruce.
“Good evening. Your name please?... Nurse Devin. My name is Alfred Pennyworth. I wish to speak to Dr. Thompkins... My dear, I am old, tired and not easily impressed. I don’t care if Dr. Thompkins is in surgery operating on the Pope, Queen of England and President of the United States all at the same time! I have a message that must be presented to her without delay. Failure to do so will not only precipitate my need to visit the hospital personally, something that would be most unpleasant for all concerned, but I am prepared to guarantee that Dr. Thompkins will have your job for even the slightest postponement, so important is this message.”
Bruce’s eyes widened with surprise. Alfred was something to behold when it came to getting things done. There hadn't been the slightest hint of aggression in the elderly man’s voice. The tone echoed authority and calm assertiveness, but Bruce could hear the strain in the polished British vowels. Another probably wouldn’t have noticed but Bruce recognized the emotion. He stepped forward and placed his hand on Alfred’s arm in support.
“Thank you, Nurse Devin. The message?...” Alfred paused for a moment, his eyes flicking to Bruce and then Dick. “Please tell her that all chocolate cake is once again under threat at the Manor... Yes, I’m sure it sounds like a frivolous message to you, but Leslie will understand it. Thank you... I’ll hold.” Alfred glanced across at Bruce again. “She’s passing on the message now. I assume we need to keep this a secret for a little while?”
“Master Dick’s fondness for chocolate cake is well-known to all who know him. Leslie will understand.“ Alfred’s eyes fell on Dick.
“I don’t have any answers, yet,” Bruce replied in response to the question held on Alfred’s face. “He’s alive, exhausted to the point of collapse and he’s been badly beaten. He wandered in here about half an hour ago. By the look of the cloak he was wearing....”
“Leslie.” Alfred interrupted. He listened and a smile of relief radiated from his face. Leslie had understood the message and had come to the phone immediately. “Yes, he’s home, but he is in need of your attention... Thank you.” Alfred handed the phone back to Bruce. “She’s on her way.”
"You're incredible, Alfred."
"Something I have been trying to communicate for some time, Sir," Pennyworth replied, patting the hand Bruce had laid on his arm before leaning over Dick. His brow furrowed with sympathy as he studied the massive bruising to the side of his face. "Someone really worked him over."
"That was my initial reaction, but I'm not so sure. It could have happened in the river," Bruce whispered. "God only knows how he survived."
"I am sure the Almighty played his part," Alfred agreed.
Tim knocked lightly on the expansive oak door. The carving had been done over a century earlier by an artist without peer. When there was no answer, Tim took a key from his pocket.
“You have a key to the front door of Wayne Manor?” Roy asked, curiously.
“I lived here for a while.”
Roy snorted. He was amazed Bruce hadn‘t taken it back. Roy followed the jean-clad teenager into the main hall and found himself caught in a time tunnel. Memories rushed up and consumed him. Images of him and Dick racing around these halls as youngsters. Of Alfred scolding them. Of him and Dick sealing up the shower with Bruce’s silicone gun and filling it with water... of Dick’s reaction to being replaced. Tears welled in Roy’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I should have done this for you years ago.”
“Huh?” Tim asked, curiously. “You okay?”
Roy strode further into the house calling “Bruce Wayne?”
Wayne appeared at the top of the stairs and stared down at the visitors with annoyance. “Quiet,” he ordered.
“In your sanctimonious ass,” Roy responded with volume.
Tim froze. Where the hell had that come from? The teenager expected to see Bruce come down the stairs like an angel of doom and rip Roy apart for that comment, but Wayne remained frozen, his eyes flashing with curiosity. “Roy...” Tim urged, rushing to his friend’s side.
“Stay out of this, Kid. This is between me and Wayne.” Roy shouldered by Tim and started up the stairs. “So where were you the day we buried Dick?”
“Roy!” Tim cried, rushing after him. Arsenal was moving into a very dangerous area. Bruce wasn’t himself at the moment.
“Busy, huh? Something more important on?” Roy snarled. “Do you have any concept of what you meant to him? God only knows why, but he loved you. He couldn’t see past that.” Bruce didn’t move, his face losing all colour.
“Roy! Please,” Tim pleaded, latching onto Arsenal’s arm. Roy viciously ripped himself free and continued up the long winding staircase, his voice echoing in the silent house. Alfred appeared in the doorway of a room further along the hall behind Bruce and shook his head.
“Was it a game to you? Did you enjoy hurting him the way you did? Or is your head so far up your ass that you had no idea of how much damage you and your self-righteous war against crime did to him?”
Tim stopped and watched as the distance between the two men closed. He couldn’t read Bruce’s face. He had no idea of how his mentor was going to react.
“He would of died for you... oh, that’s right, HE DID! And you couldn’t be bothered to attend his funeral. Explain that to me, Bruce. I’d love to hear your reasons for missing the funeral of the only person on this planet who actually believed that you’re worth half of what you seem to think of yourself.”
They were now face to face. Arsenal’s hands balled into fists. “TELL ME!”
“Keep your voice down and follow me,” Bruce growled in a hushed voice as spun around and walked back along the hall.
“Don’t turn your back on me!” Roy shouted striding after him. Tim squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and then followed. He knew he would have to stand between the two of them at some point. “You may have turned your back on him but...”
Bruce turned around as he reached the door of one of the bedrooms. This time, his face showed great emotion.
“Either you be quiet, or you leave,” Wayne growled..
“Who‘s going to make me? You? For Dick‘s sake, you‘re going to stand there and listen to what I‘ve got to...” Bruce stepped to the side. Roy’s gaze fell on the bed. He blinked. His heart missed a beat as his green eyes doubled in size. His mouth opened but no words were forthcoming.
“BRUCE! IT’S DICK!” Tim shrieked, pushing past Roy and rushing to his silent friend’s side.
“Quiet!” Bruce snapped. Dick moved. Bruce stepped around Roy, forced Tim back and then watched Dick carefully, ready to do what was necessary to ensure his son got the rest he needed.
“Bruce?” Dick muttered, neither truly awake nor asleep.
“Shhh. Go back to sleep.”
“I’m not tired,” Dick mumbled, a sly grin creasing his lips.
“It was an order.”
“You know what you can do with your order.” By the time he finished the sentence, he was dead to the world.
Roy’s mouth started opening and closing but nothing but half words, grunts and gasps emanated from him.
Bruce coaxed Dick’s two astonished friends out into the hall.
“He’s alive!” Tim cried.
“Tim, keep it down or I swear, someone is going to die!” Bruce snarled.
Roy shook his head and tried to assimilate what was happening. “HE‘S ALIVE!”
“Quiet, both of you! He’s exhausted. I don’t want him disturbed.”
“But... what... when... how... ?“
Bruce shrugged. “I don’t have a lot of answers at the moment. He walked in here about half an hour ago dead on his feet. Fell asleep straight away. He’s been sick and badly beaten. Leslie is on her way.”
“He’s alive! I don’t get it. We searched up and down that river bank for days! He wasn’t there!” Tim cried.
“Where’s he been? It’s been ten days!”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care. He’s alive,” Wayne snapped. Those two sentences summed up Bruce Wayne’s feelings. He didn’t know what had happened and he certainly couldn’t give a damn. His boy was alive. “I asked you to come Tim because Hugo Strange visited earlier today and...” Bruce frowned as he reflected on what he remembered. “He would have killed me but for Deathstroke.”
“Deathstroke?” Roy cried. “Slade Wilson?”
Bruce nodded. “Strange may try again. If he does, I want to ensure Dick is protected while I deal with him.”
“Did he tell you anything about where he’s been or what the hell happened?” Tim asked, astonished.
Bruce glanced back through the open doorway. “He can barely think straight.”
Tim was beaming. “He’s alive! Whooh!”
“Tim!” Bruce warned, pulling the door to.
The youth covered his mouth but that didn’t stop his legs from jumping about like they had minds of their own.
Wayne’s eyes were drawn to Roy who was staring at him. “You knew he was alive?” Roy whispered.
Bruce shook his head. “No, I didn’t. I... I don’t owe you an explanation, Roy. He’s my son. What transpires between the two of us is none of your business. However, I appreciate you coming. Strange could turn up with others. I’m not asking you to protect me, but I am asking you to protect Dick at all costs.”
Roy continued to stare at Bruce. “What did you call him?” he asked. “Your son?”
“Why should that shock you? You of all people know that Dick is my son.” The words were soft and strained.
Roy’s brow furrowed as the frustration he felt took root. “Have you ever told him that?”
“That is none of your damn business.”
Roy’s eyes widened with rage. “The hell it isn’t. He’s my best friend. I’m not the one who is ashamed to say I love him. He’s like a brother to me and I’m not prepared to stand by and watch you screw around with his head any more. He’s your son only when it suits you.”
Tim stepped between the two men. “Roy, please. This isn’t the time for this.”
“It’s the time,” Bruce growled. He placed his hand on Tim’s shoulder and guided the boy out of the way. “Harper, he’s always been my son. Practically from the day he moved in here at the age of eight. I don’t claim to have been the best parent in the world, but he means more to me than...“ Bruce swallowed. “How dare you come into my house and question that.”
Roy frowned. “What the hell am I supposed to think, Bruce? For Christ’s sake, you replaced him. Not just Robin. You adopted Jason. How the hell do you think he felt about that?”
“He understood,” Wayne snarled, but he couldn’t maintain eye contact. Roy’s words had hit the mark.
“The hell he did,” the anger was now gone from Roy’s voice. His purpose had changed. Beating Batman to a pulp would achieve nothing. Dick was alive and Roy was determined to make Bruce understand all that had happened in the past. “You say he means something to you... that he is your son, but you never show it. Not even to him.”
“Dick understands. He always has.”
“Maybe you’re right, but is it so hard for you to show him that he does actually mean...” Roy‘s voice faded out as he stared into the hard emotionless face of Bruce Wayne. Harper decided that he was fighting a losing battle. Wayne just didn’t get it.
Out of the blue, Bruce’s face twisted. “Fathers aren’t supposed to bury their children,” he whispered. It was his own way of answering Roy’s initial question... the reason he hadn’t attended the funeral... a bridge he hoped would help Roy understand.
Roy’s brow furrowed. He still couldn’t profess to understand Bruce Wayne but in Wayne‘s face he saw the honest truth. Bruce really did love Dick, which was something Roy hadn’t been certain of. The thought of something happening to Lian provided Roy with some understanding of a couple of Bruce’s statements. Fathers should never bury their children and no one had the right to question a father’s love for his child.
Roy Harper swallowed and shook his head slowly. “I’m well known for having foot in mouth syndrome, Bruce. It hits when I least expect it. Excuse me while I try to pry my boot from my big mouth,” Roy apologised. “I had no right to come in here and... I’m sorry. I just... Dick means a lot to me.”
“I’ve known you most of your life, Master Roy. You’ve always suffered from foot in mouth syndrome,” Alfred commented, approaching the group. He laid his hand on Roy’s shoulder. “Master Dick will be pleased to see you when awakes. I’ve just had word from Leslie. She’s coming up the drive now. If you‘ll excuse me, I‘ll go and greet her.” Alfred moved through the group and headed downstairs.
Bruce and Roy continued to stare at each other. Finally Bruce’s head bobbed once. Roy wasn’t sure if it was an acknowledgement of the fact Roy had been right, or an acceptance of Roy’s apology.
“Dick will be pleased to see you, son,” Wayne acknowledged softly. “And yes, I do understand what you have been trying to say, Roy, though you have all the finesse and tact of a walrus. You haven‘t changed at all.” Bruce smiled and he offered his hand. Roy stared down at it stunned and then took it. “I want you to understand three things, though. I love my son; I have every intention of making sure he knows that; and if you raise your voice in this house again, I’ll beat you senseless.”
Roy grinned stupidly. He had never seen this side of Bruce Wayne. Clearly, this was the side Dick knew. Bruce smiled easily, turned and went back into son‘s room. Roy and Tim started to follow. “You wake him, and I swear, you‘ll die,” Bruce whispered.
“Might be better if you wait out here, Tim. You know how much noise you make,” Roy suggested.
“Me?! Roy, you‘re the one that‘s been shooting his mouth off.”
“Quiet,” came a restrained snarl from indoors.
Roy pointed to Tim. “He meant you.”
“He meant both of us.”
A low rumble from deep down in Bruce’s chest advertised the fact that he hadn‘t been kidding. Both Roy and Tim clamped their mouths closed.
‘Did not’, Roy mouthed.
Leslie entered the room like a whirlwind.
“Out,” she ordered calmly, but very firmly. “All of you, out. Alfred,” she prompted, reaching her left hand out for her bag as her right settled on Dick’s brow.
“Leslie...” Bruce started.
“Out,” the doctor repeated. “The last thing I need is you hovering around the bed in my way. Go. I’ll take care of him... Shit, look at that bruising.”
“He hasn’t said a lot...”
“Out, Bruce. Now,” Leslie repeated, pulling the blankets down. “Good God, Dick. What the hell have you been up to?” the Doctor muttered, eying the severe bruising, her attention zeroing in on the primitive stitching. “Close the door behind you, Bruce. Alfred, I could use some extra light if you can manage it.”
Bruce backed out of the room to join Tim and Roy who had both made hasty exits. Roy sported a stunned expression. In all the years he had known Batman he had ever seen anyone order him around.
“We’ve got some memberships open in the Titans. You reckon Dr. Thompkins is available?” Roy chuckled.
Bruce glanced at Arsenal and smirked half-heartedly, his eyes echoing his great concern. “Not even Alfred argues with Leslie when she’s on the warpath,” he explained. “Come on you two. We’ll wait downstairs. I could use a drink.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Roy agreed. He glanced at Tim. “You can have soda pop, junior.”
“And I suppose you think you’re outstandingly witty.”
“I know it,” Roy laughed, slipping his arm across Tim’s shoulders. The teenager smiled. For the first time in days, he felt relaxed, but the feeling didn’t last long. Thoughts of Gotham intruded on his good mood. Batman had to go back and take control.
“Bruce, we need to talk about what’s happening in Gotham.”
“Right now, Dick is what is important. Until I know he is safe and well, I’m not prepared to entertain anything else.”
Tim’s eyebrows drew down. Roy’s rose and then he smiled. Yep, Bruce Wayne was acting like a father. Better late than never, Arsenal thought with satisfaction as he took a seat.
“But, Bruce, things are really bad.”
“Things are always really bad,” Wayne dismissed, handing Roy a drink. “Both the police and the army are active. They can handle it.”
Tim glanced at Roy looking for support, but it was clear that Arsenal agreed with Bruce. “The Joker is calling for people to join him. He wants to set up an organisation that...”
“Arsenal, are you intending staying a few days?” Bruce asked.
“As long as Dick needs me.”
Bruce nodded, though didn’t sit. His eyes flicked to the stairs as he paced unconsciously.
“He’ll be okay,” Roy offered.
Bruce’s eyes remained on the stairs, his mind on the injuries his boy had sustained.
Without warning, Tim leapt to his feet and raced toward the phone in the hall. “Barbara! I have to call her.”
“No,” Bruce called after him.
“What?” Tim asked stunned, pausing and glancing back over his shoulder.
Wayne pulled his eyes from the staircase and let them fall on Tim. “I said no,” he repeated without explanation.
“But... she thinks... why?” Tim asked confused.
“Because I said no.” With that, Bruce turned and climbed the stairs. He couldn’t wait any longer. He wanted and needed to be at Dick’s side.
Tim watched him go and turned to Roy. “How can he keep this from Barbara... from everyone? They have to be told.”
Roy sipped his drink and frowned. Strangely, he felt he understood Bruce’s reasons. Just over twelve months earlier, Lian had been kidnapped. When she was found safe and sound, friends and family had come from everywhere. Roy couldn’t get his hands on his daughter as well-wishers had passed the child around. He had been so frustrated because he simply wanted his little girl to himself.
“He just wants some time,” Roy explained.
“Time for what? I’m going to ring Barbara,” Tim growled, starting for the phone once again. He had never openly disobeyed Bruce but he couldn’t, in good conscience, keep this from the woman who was in love with Dick.
“Tim, leave it,” Roy ordered. “A few hours isn’t going make a great deal of difference and... he deserves to spend some time alone with Dick.” Roy never thought he’d ever say such a thing, but he’d seen something in Bruce Wayne today that he recognized - a father’s concern.
Tim’s brow wrinkled as he considered Roy’s words. Reluctantly, he conceded. “We better get going. Robin is needed out there. Bruce doesn’t have any idea of how bad it is.”
“He asked us to stay in case Strange returns with some thugs in tow.”
“But what about...”
“Gotham City can look after itself for one night, Tim. Right now, Dick needs us here to watch his back. Considering the number of times he’s saved both of our necks, I think we owe him at least that.”
Bruce stood quietly in the doorway for over twenty minutes watching as Leslie conducted her examination. Dick alternated in and out of consciousness throughout, mumbling answers to the doctor’s questions. Finally, Leslie pulled the covers up around Dick, kissed him on the forehead, turned to Bruce and beckoned him forward.
“He looks worse than he is,” Leslie assured. “The bruising is deep, but outside of two broken ribs there don't appear to be any other major injuries. The puncture wound wasn't from a rib but from something externally. He has a slight fever but that is due to exertion. His lungs don‘t sound good. He’s definitely had water in them. I‘ll know more when he wakes up.”
“His inability to remain coherent?” Bruce checked, staring down at Dick.
“There is some head trauma as evidenced by the bruising on the left side of his face, but I don’t believe that is responsible for his conscious state. Quite simply, he’s exhausted. He said something about not sleeping for three days and I’m inclined to believe him. He needs rest. I’m going to get some heat into his chest to help bring out the bruising. I’ve injected him with some painkillers, taped his ribs and re-stitched the puncture. I need to take some x-rays but that can wait until he wakes. If I need to reset the ribs, I can do it then.” Leslie stepped up beside Bruce and slipped her arm around him. “He’s going to be okay. I don‘t know where he‘s been, but someone has been caring for him and they did a pretty good job of it too.”
Bruce didn’t move. He swallowed and allowed all of the emotions he had been suppressing to surface. His body shuddered as realization settled - Dick was alive. His boy was back from the dead and Bruce Wayne’s heart felt overwhelmed.
Leslie glanced at him. “Are you okay?”
Wayne didn’t respond. He crouched down beside Dick, staring at his son intently. Slowly, he reached out and placed his hand on Dick’s head, tears welling in his eyes.
Grayson stirred. He blinked up at Bruce and mumbled something incoherent, but the last three words were clear. ‘I’m okay, Dad’. Grayson’s blue eyes disappeared under his heavy lids and he exhaled deeply. Bruce Wayne’s heart soared. It was far from the first time Dick had called him dad. The word had slipped out every now and then over the years when Dick was very tired or very excited. However, this had been the first time in a long, long time. That single word had always been important, but today, it meant more to Bruce than anything in the world.
Wayne smiled, smoothing Dick’s hair back. “Yeah, I know. I just... Dick, I...” He had so much he wanted to say and yet the words he needed weren’t there. “Dick... you...”
“He’s asleep, Bruce,” Leslie whispered.
“I know. I just... God, Leslie.” Wayne dropped his head and desperately fought to maintain some semblance of control.
Alfred, who had been standing on the other side of the bed, walked around, stopped beside Bruce and dropped his hand down onto the emotional man’s shoulder. “There will be plenty of time for you to talk to him when he wakes. Right now, sleep is the best medicine in the world. Isn‘t that right, Leslie?”
“Yes. A few hours sleep and he’ll be more aware of what is going on around him.”
Bruce rose to his feet and turned to the doctor. “Thank you for coming so quickly, Leslie.”
“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Now, time for me to have a look at you. You seem to have lost quite a bit of weight,” the physician diagnosed, critically. “When was the last time you had a decent meal?”
“I had some apple pie earlier,” Bruce replied absentmindedly, his attention returning to Dick.
“You sit with him and Alfred and I will make you something,” Leslie encouraged. Wayne didn’t move. Alfred guided Bruce down into the chair beside the bed.
Once again Bruce was a million miles away. Leslie and Alfred exchanged a knowing look and exited the room. Both knew that Wayne had been given a second chance. Now, it was up to him how he intended using it.
Bruce reached out for Dick’s hand and encircled it with his huge fist. The sensation of Dick’s hand slipping from his grasp repeated for the hundredth time. “I‘ve got you,” Wayne promised.
© May 2006 Aussie Nightwriter : This relates only to the creative property in this story. The distinctive way the story unfolds, the specific dialogue and unique situations are mine. I acknowledge that some of the characters and settings belong to DC comics and thank them sincerely for turning a blind eye so I can borrow them. (g) No infrigement of copyright was intended and no profit has been made from this story... so, please don't sue me. It wouldn't be worth your while.
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