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**Always A Hero**

By Brickgirl

A Batman Beyond Fanfic
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I see their eyes cycle through the familiar routine I remember from so 
many years ago, one that hundreds upon hundreds of faceless criminals 
repeated when faced with a legend that they either didn’t believe at 
all, or took to be exaggerated, terrified rants of their less fortunate 
peers.  First, a blank, dead stare.  The pupils sharpen to a 
realization.  Then, right on cue, the eyes widen with shock.  And then 
it comes, the one look that use to sing so seductively to the darkest 
parts of my soul, the one always threatening to push me over that fine, 
fine line that I drew for myself at the beginning of the fight.

The fear.

They are fumbling for their guns now.  Clumsy.  Foolish.  Weak.  Afraid. 
They think that guns can stop the demon sworn to bring justice?  They 
are as deluded as they are corrupt. They don’t stand a chance.  A fist 
connects with a stomach, a foot with a chin.  I lunge forward . . .

And the screen flickers, a flash reminding me of who I am, where I am.

Bruce Wayne.  In the cave.  In front of the most high-tech computer in 
the world, helping the Batman.

It’s all wrong.  I am the Batman.  Not this pitiful shell of an old man 
sitting in this chair, the one who can still fight the good fight, but 
has heart palpitations afterward.  I clench a fist, feeling it tremble, 
hearing the bones crack.  Pathetic, I think to myself, to let this 
happen to you.

It’s like watching myself in a dream, but not quite.  A clumsy kick 
there, a missed opportunity to strike a vulnerable nerve cluster.  He 
fails to block a punch.  The view on the screen shudders, tips.  I 
wince, remembering the feel of a thousand blows, back when I was more 
then this shell.  I know he probably didn’t even feel it.  The suit 
protects him, the same damn suit that nearly killed me.  Many see the 
suit and think it is Batman.  They are wrong.  It is only a skin.  The 
passion, the drive, the obsession, the need for justice that consumes, 
that is Batman.  The suit is just a tool.

The boy is different then I was.  He was not born in an alley, kneeling 
two puddles of blood that is his blood.  He didn’t spend years carving, 
shaping himself into a force to create order from chaos, an order where 
the good could live without fear.  He does not have that same passion.  
He is fueled by anger, anger at those who stole his father from him, 
anger at himself for being so helpless, not being their to help his 
father.  He is rash and foolish and will probably get himself killed.  
Or perhaps is anger will die down and he will give up the mantle and 
return to his life and forget what it is like to know that you are 
making the streets safer one criminal and thug and freak at a time.

Or maybe, if he is lucky, he will be tempered by that anger, and he will 
see the good he does, how much he is needed.  He will see the power that 
fear and superstition bring him, and he will know and love every curve 
of the night.  He will live in the shadows, and revel in them, and be 
changed from Terry McGinnis into something much greater.

Another clumsy strike.  I manage to keep myself from shouting orders 
through the radio connection.  He is not Dick, or Tim, or even Babara.  
I smile in spite of myself.  Definitely not Barbara.  He is not a 
sidekick, as much as I may think of him as one.  He is the hero now.  He 
is the one they will look at with fear.  He is the one who will stand 
between the innocent and the corrupt.  He will continue the fight, where 
I cannot.  Through him, the mantle of the Bat will live.

But, at heart, I will always be the Batman.


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Comments?  Contact me at Brickgirl@batmanbeyond.net

Visit my page, Batman Beyond: Welcome to the Future
http://www.batmanbeyond.net

Disclaimer:  All characters belong to
        Warner Bros. and DC Comics.  I
        own this story
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