"Stop right there!" Bruce commanded, his voice deliberately pitched lower and more gravelly via the device pressed against his throat, hidden beneath the cowl he wore when out as Batman. "I don't think that car belongs to you."
"Ooh, lookie, boys! It's the Batman," the leader of the small group of thugs said. He smacked his crowbar into his empty palm as he spoke, sarcasm dripping heavily from his words. "We're so scared, aren't we, boys?"
"Hehe, yeah," snickered the man on the leader's left. His beady eyes flickered around, as if sizing up the situation.
"Terrified," said the other, a man in a black woolen ski cap. He grinned, showing a mouth full of broken, rotted teeth.
"I would be, if I were you," Clark said, stepping out of the shadows.
Only, he didn't look like himself, he knew. He was dressed all in black - the outfit tight, sleek, purposeful. There were some accents of icy blue as well - most notably, the bat symbol which stretched across his broad, muscled chest and which extended out onto his shoulders. His identity - his most precious possession - was carefully concealed behind a mask, the shape of which also resembled a slightly more stylized bat. The suit had some built-in padding and protection, but it was minimal, and meant more as a ruse to fool any criminals Clark might come across. It would not do to have none and all, and expose him for the invulnerable being that he was in reality.
A hardened look flashed in Bruce's eyes. Clark's disguise wasn't fooling him, at the very least. He looked mad, if anything.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, never taking his gaze from the three would-be car thieves.
"Helping you," Clark replied with a small shrug.
"I don't need any help. I work alone."
"Yeah, so you've said," Clark said, advancing to Bruce's side. "You want to go first or...?" he offered, a light, joking tone to his voice.
Bruce responded by flinging a small, bat-shaped object at the leader. It expanded a bit in midair and its flight path curved. In seconds, the leader was wrapped in a length of sturdy, slender cable. The man struggled for a moment, then stumbled and crashed to the ground on his stomach.
"Get them!" he yelled to his two cohorts.
Clark saw Wool Hat reaching for a gun, before Bruce was even aware that the man was moving. He shoved Bruce out of the way and deflected the bullet with the back of his hand, as though he was swatting away a fly. To the naked eye, he knew he'd moved his hand fast enough so as to appear motionless, and that Wool Hat would think he'd simply missed his target.
As the sound of the gunshot faded, even Bruce had to offer up a "Thanks."
Clark nodded his acknowledgment. "I'll take care of Wool Hat, you take Mohawk Man."
"Works for me."
Careful not to move with inhuman speed, Clark rushed at Wool Hat. The man shot wildly at Clark. He was obviously not used to firing a gun. His bullets hit everything but Clark. One even went so far off course as to pierce the bulb of the street light behind Clark. There was a pop, then a tinkling sound of shattered glass as the street darkened by several degrees. Clark heard the young man gulp as he realized he wasn't going to win this fight. Undeterred, Clark kept advancing until he was directly before Wool Hat. He grabbed the thief's shirt, bunching up the black material in his fist.
"Hey...man. Don't hurt me," Wool Hat pleaded. "I ain't never done this before and I won't again."
"No, you won't," Clark agreed. "The police will see to that."
As he spoke, he took the gun from the man's hand. He thought about crushing the barrel of it down so that it could not be used again, but then thought better of it. Firstly, he didn't want to show off his strength. And secondly, he thought the police might want it for evidence. He tucked the gun into the belt around his waist and then took out a length of the same cable Bruce had used to tie up the leader. Swiftly, he bound Wool Hat's hands behind his back.
By then, Bruce had subdued Mohawk Man. The young man was slumped over, out cold. Bruce shrugged as Clark looked over. Clark supposed he must have looked a little surprised at his friend's speed in disabling the thug.
"What?" he asked.
"Nothing," Clark said, meaning it. "You want to phone these guys into the police or you want me to drop them off?"
"We'll drop them off," Bruce said. He went to where the leader and Wool Hat were and popped open a small canister. In an instant, both of the men were knocked out.
"What'd you just do?" Clark demanded.
"It's just a light sedative. In fifteen minutes, they'll come too. Just enough time to get them over to the police station," Bruce explained, replacing the canister in his utility belt. "We need to hurry."
"I'll take them," Clark offered. "I can be there and back in seconds."
Bruce appeared to mull it over. "Too dangerous. What if someone sees you?"
"I've been flying around for months now. No one's caught me yet. I know how to keep myself safe, you know."
Bruce sighed, knowing he'd just lost the argument. "Yeah, I suppose you're right."
"I'll be right back." Clark inclined his head in respect and acknowledgement. "Meet you back here?"
"No. Not here," Bruce said, shaking his head.
Clark hesitated and then agreed. "Yeah, okay." He glanced around and pointed to the tallest building surrounding them. "The roof?"
"Good enough for me," Bruce said with a nod.
Clark didn't answer. Instead, he turned his attention to the three unconscious thugs. He used another bit of cable to bind the three together. Then he effortlessly lifted them all and flew into the air. He flew to the nearest police station, twelve blocks uptown and seven over, and dropped his bundle off in front of the door. No one was around - not a single cop on a smoke break or citizen out walking their dog. Clark used a bit of super speed to tether the bundle to a light pole. He fished around for a bit of paper and a small stub of a pencil that he'd had Alfred stash in his belt.
Found these three attempting to steal a car on Xavier Street.
He didn't sign the note, figuring he didn't have to. The bold black bat symbol at the header would give the police all the information they needed. He left the gun on Wool Hat's chest. It was empty - Clark made sure to check it. Wool Hat must have spent every last bullet with his wild shooting when Clark had approached.
"There," he told the three still forms before him. "All wrapped up, neat and tidy for the police. And just in time too. I think I hear one of the cruisers approaching."
He telescoped in down the street. Sure enough, a patrol car was headed back to the station. Clark silently lifted off into the sky and returned to where Bruce was waiting. All the while, he wondered how mad the older man was going to be. Not that it mattered. Clark was more than old enough to make his own decisions and live with the consequences of those decisions. And this was something he wanted to do.
No. Not want. Need, he told himself.
"That was fast," Bruce remarked as Clark alighted down on the rooftop behind him. He didn't turn around, but kept his vigil over the city.
Clark shrugged, though he knew Bruce couldn't see it. "I told you so."
"Mmm," Bruce hummed in response. A minute passed without either one of them speaking. "So how long ago did Alfred make your suit?"
"A few weeks ago," Clark admitted, unsurprised that Bruce had instantly recognized that Alfred had been involved. "Are you mad?" He walked up next to Bruce and leaned his back against the high wall that ran along the roof's edge.
Another pause. "I should be. But part of me saw it coming, I think. I still wish you hadn't decided to do this."
"I'm not going to end up like Jason. I can protect myself. Geez, Bruce, I mean I caught a bullet on the back of my hand tonight, so it wouldn't hit you." Clark folded his arms over his chest, not defensively, but in a relaxed way.
"The armor in my suit would have deflected it," Bruce countered half-heartedly.
"Maybe so," Clark allowed. "But this is my decision. I need to do this."
Bruce sighed noisily. "I know. But that doesn't mean that I'm not worried."
Clark sighed in turn. "I get it. But this will be different, I promise. You don't have to worry about me getting captured or killed."
Bruce didn't reply to that. Once again, silence fell. Only the night sounds of the city broke the quiet - a distant car horn, the wail of an ambulance, raucous laughter from a knot of drunks out in front of a bar on the next block over.
"So, what do I call you now?" Bruce asked, looking over at Clark for the first time.
Clark chuckled. "Alfred sort of dubbed the suit 'Nightwing'. So, I guess that's as good a name as any.'"
"Nightwing." Bruce said it in such a way that it seemed like he was rolling it around in his mind and on his tongue as he spoke, testing it out. "Nightwing. I like it."
But Clark was no longer listening. His head was cocked to one side, his super hearing engaged of its own accord.
"Clark?" Bruce asked, concerned. "Everything okay?"
"No," he said slowly, still listening. "There's a shootout on Vine and Kensington. Two officers down. We need to go and help them."
Bruce nodded stiffly. "Let's get to the car."
Clark shook his head. "Alfred made me a motorcycle. Said it would be a better cover than me flying around. I'll see you there."
As Clark flew down to the street to retrieve his bike, he heard Bruce muttering to himself as he grappled down the building.
"A bike! Does that kid even have his license?"
***
"So?" Clark asked, once they were in the privacy of the Batcave.
"So, what?" Bruce asked, pulling off his cowl.
"So...what'd you think? About tonight?" Clark asked, removing his face mask. "Us, out there? Working together as a team," he elaborated.
Bruce paused after placing the cowl on its stand. "I hate to admit it, but, you did good out there."
Clark let the compliment sink in for a moment. "It felt good, Bruce, to be out there, helping. I'm going to keep doing it."
"I know. And, as much as I was afraid of you going out there, you proved that you can handle yourself. I don't just mean with your powers and your restraint in using them. You've got good instincts and a way of putting people at ease. That five-year-old that you calmed down in that car wreck...you were a complete, masked stranger to him but he instantly trusted you to keep him safe." There was a mild tone of awe in Bruce's voice.
"And his seven-year-old sister did the same with you," Clark offered.
Bruce shook his head as he started to walk behind a privacy screen to get out of his suit. "That's different. Batman's an established figure. People know him. You, on the other hand, are someone brand new. Aside from the three of us," he said, nodding toward Alfred, "not a soul knows who Nightwing is." He gave Clark a wry grin. "At least until tomorrow when the Gotham Gazette prints the story about a new hero in town."
That stopped Clark as he, too, stepped behind his changing screen. "I guess that's true. I just did what I thought was right, and it worked."
"Well, don't get too cocky," Bruce replied, but his voice betrayed a hint of teasing. "This was an easy night."
"So," Clark said, already done changing back into his civilian clothes, "does that mean I can continue to work with you? Rather than go off on my own?"
"Yeah," Bruce said, sounding like he was surrendering. "For the time being, you can keep working with me. Except, your outfit..."
"What? I thought it looked pretty good," Clark said, hanging it up. "I would have even gone so far as to call it 'dashing.' What? Too much?" he asked off Bruce's shaking head.
"That's not what I meant. It's fine. Just not complete. You'll be needing this."
Bruce came around from behind his screen, dressed now in his usual evening attire of cotton pants and a t-shirt. He rummaged in a drawer and then tossed a small device at Clark. Clark deftly caught the tiny item and peered at it.
"What is it?" he asked, still examining it.
"An earpiece. You may be able to hear me sneeze from clear across the city, but I can't hear you. We'll need a way to communicate reliably while we're out there. Place it in your ear like this," he said, demonstrating. "This piece here is a microphone. It's powerful - I'll be able to hear your voice even in the midst of battle. It's also connected back here, to the cave. Alfred is usually standing by to help, if need be."
Clark nodded. "Thanks, Bruce." He carefully put the miniature earpiece with the rest of his costume. "For all of this. I won't let you down out there, I swear it."
Bruce put his back to Clark in readiness to leave the Batcave. "I know."
***
Clark retired back to his bedroom that night, ecstatic over how well the night had gone. He'd done what he'd sworn to do. He'd donned the costume Alfred had painstakingly created for him. He gone out there, into the streets, and actually made a difference in the world. Oh, sure, maybe it wasn't anything major. He hadn't taken down an entire crime circuit or put a criminal mastermind behind bars. But for the people who were actually affected by his actions - whether or not they knew what he'd done for them - he'd truly made a difference in their lives.
Someone would wake up in the morning and find their car exactly where it had been parked the night before. Two police officers - though in critical condition - were still alive, thanks to his efforts. The rest of the officers on the scene were safe and unharmed. Perhaps they would have been perfectly fine without Batman and Nightwing stepping in to lend their aid. But Clark couldn't help but feel like maybe the two costumed characters had played a role in ensuring that the shooters had been subdued without further incident, and that maybe - just maybe - without their help, more officers might have been injured. And that family in the car wreck...
That memory made Clark smile. He and Bruce had been patrolling the city when they'd happened upon a car accident. It had been a recent accident, they could tell. The occupants of the car were still a bit dazed when Clark had insisted they stop and lend a hand. It wasn't a usual incident for Batman to become involved with, but Bruce had been willing to go along with Clark's need to help. Clark had immediately swerved his motorcycle toward the accident and skidded to a halt just behind the wrecked SUV. As he dismounted the bike, Clark used his speedy vision to survey the scene of the accident in less than a heartbeat. It had been a single car crash. There was no evidence of any other vehicle being involved in the crash. The front of the SUV was badly mangled and dented where it had impacted a street light.
He was moving immediately, his heart seizing up in his chest. He only hoped the occupants of the SUV were alive.
"Sir?" he'd asked as he reached the driver's side door. He'd pulled the door open, giving him access to the man behind the wheel. "Sir?"
Incomprehensible moaning had been the only response, but even that simple sound had been a relief to Clark's ears. The driver had been alive.
Clark had swept his eyes over the rest of the vehicle's occupants. Every one had survived the accident, much to Clark's relief. The mother had been unconscious, but had clearly shown signs of breathing. The two girls in the back seat had been crying and clutching stuffed animals to themselves - a panda bear in the five-year-old's arms and a white unicorn with a rainbow mane in the seven-year- old's embrace. Between the girls - and faring the best of them all - a ten-month-old baby boy had been wailing in fright, though his car seat had kept him from coming to any harm.
Making a split-second decision, Clark had helped the children's father first. He opened the door and helped the man unbuckle his seat belt. Fully coming to, the father had staggered out of the car with Clark's help. Clark helped the man limp over to a safe distance from the car and from any other cars that might come down the street. Then he went back to the vehicle and helped the children get out. He brought the infant to his father first, then picked up the girls and brought them over as well. By then, the father had been able to express his gratitude and care for his children while Clark turned his attention to the wife.
"Ma'am?" Clark had asked, going around to the passenger side. "Ma'am? Can you hear me?"
"Huh?" the woman asked, her eyes fluttering open. "What...?"
"Easy," Clark had said, tying to still her movements. "I'm here to help you. Are you hurt at all?" As he'd asked, he'd used his x-ray vision to look for obvious signs of injury, but he'd found none.
"I...I'm not sure," the woman had responded. "What happened? Who are you?"
"My name is Nightwing," Clark had said, helping her undo her seatbelt. He'd then extended a hand to help her stand. "You were in a car accident. Your husband and children are fine. They're just over there, waiting for you." He'd indicated the direction with a nod of his head.
In the meantime, Bruce had called for an ambulance, carefully changing his voice again so that it neither resembled Batman's voice nor Bruce Wayne's voice. Clark had heard snippets of the conversation with his super hearing, as he'd tended to the family. Clark had heard Bruce end the 911 call as he'd half-walked, half-carried, the woman over to her husband and children.
"Here you go," he'd said as he'd helped the woman sit on the stairs of an apartment building.
"Thank you, Nightwing," the woman had said, mustering up a weak smile.
"Paramedics should be here soon," he'd assured her.
"Thank you," the man had said. "I...I'm not sure what we would have done without you."
"What happened?" Bruce had asked as he'd approached.
"I...I'm not sure," the man had stuttered. "I was driving and the next thing I knew, he was there," he'd said, indicating Clark. "I guess...I may have drifted off for a second. We've been driving all night, trying to get home. Oh God, I'm so embarrassed. And so sorry. I thought I could make it home. We were so close..." He'd buried his head in his hands, shaking and sobbing with guilt.
"Mister?" the five-year-old had said, coming up to Clark and tugging at his hand.
Clark had looked down and smiled at the wide-eyed little girl. "Hey there. Are you okay?"
"Yeah," she'd replied shyly. "Thank you for helping us."
"Aww, it was my pleasure."
"Stay?"
Clark had smiled warmly. "Sure thing. I'll stay with you until the ambulance arrives. How does that sound?"
The girl's eyes had lit up. "Yay! Thank you!" And then she'd flung herself at him, hugging him around the waist.
Cautiously, Clark had given her a quick hug in return, but only after he'd looked to her parents for their nod of approval. "My pleasure," he'd told her. Then, to distract her from the wait for the paramedics, he sat down on the cold concrete sidewalk, next to where she'd been sitting on the steps. She'd followed his lead and sat down again. "What's your name?" he'd asked.
"Danielle," she'd said with a shy smile.
"Danielle. That's a pretty name. And what about him? Does he have a name too?" He'd pointed to the stuffed panda she'd been clutching.
"This is WaWa," Danielle had said, stroking the bear's ratty, somewhat dingy looking fur. It had been more than clear that WaWa was a favorite toy that had been dragged along everywhere Danielle went. "Kim's unicorn is StarFire."
Clark hadn't been able to stop his smile. "Those are some really nice names."
"Kimmy gave me WaWa when I was a baby," Danielle had proudly declared, holding up the panda for inspection.
"Well, that was very nice of her," Clark had said. "He's a special bear then, huh?"
"He's my favorite toy ever."
"When I was a little boy, I had a stuffed dog," Clark had offered. "His name was Rexy."
"Do you still have him?" Danielle's eyes had gone wide with interest.
Clark had to shake his head. "No. But I wish I did."
That had made his heart a little sad. Not that he needed his old stuffed toy. But it was another reminder of how much of his life had been left behind so suddenly when his parents had died. He wondered if his old things were still stored at the Irig farm, and had made a mental note to get in touch with Wayne when he had the chance. Perhaps he could fly out at some point at pick through everything and bring some of it back to Wayne Manor.
"Oh," Danielle had said sadly. "I'm sorry you don't have your doggy anymore."
Clark had chuckled a little. "It's okay." He glanced over at Bruce, and found him talking to Danielle's older sister.
Danielle noticed. "Kimmy loves Batman. She says she wants to marry him someday."
Kim had overheard the exchange. "Dani!" she'd admonished, clearly embarrassed. "Be quiet!"
"Girls! That's enough!" their mother had sternly, but kindly, told them.
"Batman?" Kim had ventured, now that her secret was out. "Can I have your autograph?"
Bruce had cracked a small smile. He was always careful to keep Batman as a more serious persona than his true self. "Sure thing." He'd fumbled for something to write on. After a moment, he pulled out a dull Batarang from his utility belt. "Sorry, it's all I have," he'd apologized to the kids' parents as he'd signed his name with a marker that the mother had produced from her purse.
"Me too! Me too!" Danielle had cried, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. "I want Nightwing's autograph!"
Secretly, Clark doubted she understood what an autograph was, but she was so adorable in trying to emulate her sister that he had to smile. And part of him had been - and still was - flattered that she'd chosen him over Bruce. But, in the end, he and Bruce had both signed each of the batarangs they'd given to the girls.
It had only been right as the ambulances were approaching that he and Bruce had taken their leave of the family. The girls had hugged them both and the parents had shook hands with them, thanking them both over and over for their help. As the paramedics had turned onto the block where the family was, the nighttime crusaders had melted into the shadows. They'd waited on a nearby rooftop until the coast was clear, then decided that it was getting late and that they should head back to the house for the night. Clark hadn't really wanted to return just yet - he was still riding the adrenaline rush from helping that family - but he'd had to admit that Bruce was right. It truly was late and they'd been out for hours already. It had been time to call it quits and get some rest.
Now, as Clark lay back in his bed, staring at the ceiling in the darkness, he smiled to himself. He'd made a difference to that family. He felt surer than ever that this was his calling in life. No matter what else happened in his life, he would dedicate himself to helping others, not just as a reporter, but as a force for justice in a more direct manner as well.
"This is who I am," he said to himself, just before he drifted off to sleep.
To Be Continued...
