#and yes... i wrote another story about the bat bunker and tim's reaction to it

[astrologista]

Acceptable Losses

for @starspatter

“Imagine Bruce confronting Clark over his son's death though...  And Clark being so far gone at this point that he's all "sacrifices must be made for peace" and Bruce being like "You really have gone insane" and storms out.”

---

((( This ficlet references events from the Justice League episodes “A Better World Pt 1 and 2″ and the Batman Beyond 2.0 issues 17-24, and the Justice League Beyond 2.0 issues 17-24. If you haven’t seen/read them, the Justice Lords AU may not make sense to you... I guess... sorry ‘bout it :^) )))

---

A day after Wally was taken from them, Bruce had started work on what he was tentatively calling the “bat-bunker”. 

It existed miles below the Cave, accessible by elevator only, in a natural cavern that had sat barren since he first began this mad game of cops and robbers.

The bunker was outfitted with sensors, with cameras, a complex ventilation system that promised fresh air for many years (none too simple to design), fresh water from an underground spring, and everything else needed to sustain life, for years, as necessary. It also happened to contain several of Tim’s favorite video game consoles, stores of shelf-stable snacks and canned food, stacks of comic books and a cabinet full of DVDs (mostly superhero movies).  It was designed to be nothing less than a gilded cage for a bird. A place where his child would be totally safe from the traumas the world had yet to endure. 

Wally West had been too young to die. Bruce wouldn’t see it happen to Tim. He’d lock him away and throw away the key first, no matter the misery or frustration it caused. Tim would thank him someday.

The plan, while well-intentioned (he thinks), never comes to pass. Lord Batman needs his soldiers, he needs everyone he can muster - and his family, most of all. The bat-bunker sits forever dormant, another awkward symbol of care that it’s better Tim never sees.

---

“We’re fighting a new kind of war, Tim.”

The new suit is safer, in some ways. The reinforced cowl (there will be no bullets in the brain), the bandoliers crossed over the chest (there will be no shrapnel in the heart), nominally treated against the worst effects of heat vision (not completely heatproof, but what else can he do against five-thousand-degree alien heat vision?). Multiple tracers, hidden in the lining, woven into the cloth. Every feature seems to be motivated by a fear, a worry - there’s love, there, too. Bruce had input into every Robin costume yet devised - but this was the first he had designed without input from a cheerful child, instead crafting it to his whims and catering to his neuroses in the process.

Bruce hands him the costume with an expression that brooks no argument. “You’re not Robin anymore. We’ll call you Red Robin from now on.” he tells him.

Tim takes the costume into his arms, holds it as if it’s fragile, something sacred. “Okay, dad.” he whispers reverently.

Lord Batman only nods, sharply. “Good boy.”

---

It’s easier to control Tim now, than it was before everything. With the onset of global war, Tim learns to be quiet, to be stealthy - as he always was, but in a somber way, in Bruce’s shadow, always, now.

They are the only resistance against Clark’s - Superman’s reign of terror, his iron grip upon the world. Those who do not agree can expect to be lobotomized at up to one hundred yards - or more - that is, if Superman decides that they deserve to live.

Dick and Barbara can no longer tolerate the stress, can no longer tolerate Bruce. They promise they don’t agree with Lord Superman, but that they can no longer remain on the side of the resistance. It’s a safety issue. Barbara is carrying Dick’s child, and it is safer for them to outwardly support the regime. Dick becomes a Commander, and Bruce is not allowed contact with their child outside of the photos and vids Barbara occasionally sends.

Oddly, the only one who stays - other than Alfred, of course - and Tim, now his good right hand - is Diana, but she is not the Diana he knew. This is the Diana from the other universe, the one where Wally did not die. She brings the strength they need, mother-hens Tim, and Bruce marvels at her undying determination in the face of total war.

He’s already fallen in love with her.

---

“Can I go?” The time had come - their tight knit group had begun to unravel. Perry White had been speaking against the regime through his underground newspaper for too long, and Superman, who had long since lost his mind in Bruce’s eyes, was prepared to deal with him once and for all. They had to put a stop to it - a man’s life was in danger simply for speaking his mind. 

The new costume fits Red Robin perfectly, but Bruce had been so sure that Tim had outgrown pleading and whining for inclusion. 

In his mind’s eye, he can see Luthor aim the gun - BAM - gone is the Flash, that bright, quippy young streak of red that lightened the burden in their hearts, hell, even made him smile just a few - 

“No.” It’s a final no, an end-of-conversation no. Tim should know by now that this is all for his safety. They live in a world where Clark has decided that the world’s citizens are his wayward children, not knowing what is best for themselves. Therefore, he appointed himself to be their savior, whether they want it or not.

Maybe he and Clark aren’t that different after all.

“Tim, I have another job for you, and it’s to be done right here.”

That earns him a pointed look, rebellion brewing low but buried deep under layers of loyalty, of love. As Bruce steps into the car, he prays that Tim knows better now, after all the close calls they’ve had, he should know to follow Bruce’s orders without question. The last thing they want is to lose another - 

---

They were too late to save Perry.

As per usual, Superman addresses the television cameras as what’s left of Perry is led out of the small shack that now constitutes the Daily Planet. He’s in cuffs, but there’s no need for them - he won’t be fighting back any time soon. “Mr. White will be cared for at a secure facility. We must do our best to keep our world safe, all of us. Spreading lies and defamation is poor stewardship, and will not be tolerated. Nor will a bad attitude... remember to report all incidents of poor sportsmanship, jaywalking, or misplaced aggression to the police. We will handle the perpetrators as necessary. ...There is no reason for anyone to be hurt. Citizens, good day.” Dispassionate, as usual. Robotic. (It may as well be one of his doppelgangers delivering the speech. Perhaps it is.) It’s a script Bruce has only heard a thousand times. And as the crimes listed become more and more trifling, he becomes more and more sickened by the Orwellian horror their world has become - and even more so by the part he played.

Diana comforts as always. “We gave it our best, Bruce. Someday, we’ll put a stop to this.”

As they retreat, Bruce keys his communicator. “Red Robin, report.”

“Eh? Yeah, Batman. I’m here at the Batcomputer... checking those samples... like you told me...!”

Clear sounds of a fight echo in the background audio and Bruce’s stomach clenches painfully. This is how it started with Dick, too - the lying.

“No... you’re not.” Bruce breathes, quickening his pace to a run while Diana flies beside. “You’re not...!”

---

Bruce has at least five main methods of tracking Tim. His boy is never hard to find. In the worst case scenario (and there is always a worst case scenario), he can even track Tim’s biosignature within a radius of twenty miles. Lucius is already overworked, but Bruce had insisted that that number be boosted to forty by week’s end. Tracers fail; and some methods are unreliable. He laughs at the days when he used to slip a mini-GPS into Dick’s utility belt and call that “safe”.

“Batman, listen to me. I’ve been working on this for months. I couldn’t tell you and you know why. I’m going to rescue Emil Hamilton and the researchers - we already know they want to join the resistance - that way Lord Superman will have a way harder time with R&D, as you know. He’s got a lot of scientists on his side, but only Hamilton’s team are the experts on Kryptonian technology -”

The words go through Bruce, as he pushes the car to its limit, honing in on Tim’s location. The boy is babbling - this shouldn’t be happening - he thought Tim had learned to be quiet - to work in the shadows - to keep himself safe.

Maybe there would be a use to the bat-bunker, after all. His heart couldn’t take much more of this.

“I can do this. I’m going into the central lab now where me ‘n the scientists agreed to rendezvous. Maybe I kept this secret for more than the fact that I knew you’d try to stop me. Maybe I wanted to make you proud.” Tim’s voice is small, sad. “But you’ll see. And you said I couldn’t do this all on my -”

The communication feed cuts and Bruce is running, full tilt, into the research facility. Heedless of alarms, of sensors set off. Diana follows, “Bruce! Wait!” Cursing quietly, she covers his back against the stream of guards that respond to their entry. This is the only situation in which Batman can’t remain quiet, stealthy.

Wally was killed in cold blood, and it could happen again. The youth, the brashness, the color red. The symmetry. And now, it was only red swirling in Bruce’s vision. Red, at the world, the Hell that Superman had constructed for them to live in.

It doesn’t take him long to find the lab.

“We knew Red Robin wanted us to join the Resistance.” Hamilton explains. “But we know what Superman does to dissenters.” The professor looked genuinely afraid. “We turned him over as soon as he showed.” 

Bruce growls and throws the man aside, throws him to the floor. A disgusting coward. But he knows. 

He knows the worst fears have now been realized. The world opens up, as if to swallow him.

“Batman, I’m sorry.” the scientist gasps. “He fought. So they dealt with him.”

---

There is no such thing as safety.

“It was unfortunate, wasn’t it?”

Clark is there, but Bruce wishes he weren’t. For the first time, Bruce wishes the man were dead. For doing this to him, to their family.

It’s their only ceasefire. Ever. Clark brings him his son’s body and places it - places him - into his arms. Now that Bruce looks, the costume is too big on Tim. 

It never should have been made.

Diana can’t hide her tears. Bruce is unable to look - instead, he looks to Superman; his friend, more than just a coworker, but a brother - they grieved together, when they lost the Flash. The old Clark would know what to say, would try and fail to ease his pain, but he would try.

“Acts against the government are intolerable and damage the integrity of the public order.” The same, mechanical voice of Lord Superman. As if he’s reading off cue cards. His face, a stony mask. No indication that he cares what Bruce has lost. “To discourage further criminal activity, we have a zero-tolerance policy. His sacrifice was necessary to keep everyone living here safe and sound.”

“Safe and sound?” Bruce hisses, his voice low and growling but tight with the fresh pain of grief. “Who are you protecting? Who are you really protecting, Clark?”

All the trackers and tracers in the world can’t save him. Tim is lifeless in his arms.

At some point Bruce thought that there might still be a chance. That the real Superman still remained somewhere within, knowing that his actions were capricious, unfair, and ultimately unjust. That maybe Tim’s death really would be a sacrifice, a catalyst, to save the world from tyranny. (And still it was too high a price to pay.)

The only indication that the real Clark still existed is the fact that he didn’t kill them where they stood.

Tim’s body is heavy, so heavy in Bruce’s arms. He grew so much, since everything changed. But now...

“Madness, Clark.” Bruce can finally look down now, at the slack jaw, the pale face (pale like an old joke) - the rigor of death setting in, he can feel it. Tim was always too brave, too determined to prove himself - and now he never could again. “It’s madness.” He can shed his tears later. Alone. Maybe in the bat-bunker.

“Stop this.” he begs Clark. Before anyone else gets hurt.

If there was a hole in Lord Superman’s armor, it’s been patched long ago. The red uniform on Tim is just as red as the one on the Flash. Bruce can tell this doesn’t go unnoticed by Clark.

Diana is silently mouthing a prayer. A prayer of her people, most likely, a prayer for Tim. 

Clark looks to the East, where the Sun is just rising. For half a second, he looks like their friend once more. The spell broken.

But it’s too late for that. They’ve already gone too far, the wedge driven too deep. In a year, Lord Superman would arrange for Batman to die, and succeed. And with a horrible sense of foreboding, Bruce even felt that he knew. Deep in his bones, he knew Lord Superman was now on a collision course with him. Set to destroy him... destroy them both.

“I’m sorry, Bruce.” And it’s Clark’s voice they hear, at last. Low. Ashamed. But there. Broken through the layers of contention between them, moved by the loss of the Robin he knew.

His final gift is to depart quietly, leaving them - physically - unharmed.

For all that’s worth.

---

Dick weeps when Diana tells him, and Barbara does too. Their son John is not told exactly what happened to his Uncle Tim, but it doesn’t matter. He’s too young to fully understand.

Bruce dresses the mannequin in the case in his son’s costume. It fits the mannequin quite well. This is where it will stay, where he can always see it.

“You made no mistakes, raising him, Bruce.” 

Diana’s words are soft, but to Bruce (and only to him), they feel somehow accusatory. Especially when he feels he has done everything wrong.

“You kept him safe.”

“Diana... there’s no such thing as safe.”

Not in this world. Not in this life.

Tomorrow he’d go to the bunker and sit among all of Tim’s belongings that he’d meticulously picked out for him, especially for an extended period of time, books carefully curated into a variety of genres such that he would be in no danger of going mad down there, alone, constantly watched, fresh air provided so he would not suffocate, food so he would not starve, every need attended for. An absolutely... safe... area.

An area, he would tell himself, was decidedly not a larger and fancier grave, nor the tomb of an Egyptian prince, taking his worldly possessions with him into the afterlife. 

It was safety.

Safety that Clark wanted to bring.

Safety, that Lord Superman had taken away from them.

An anguish that would never stop, born of a war that would never end.