DC: All for One Chapter 10 — The Watchful Guardian

Ethan sat in the interview room occasionally glancing at the clock on the wall which ticked forward slowly; several hours had passed since his conversation with Detective Harper and now he waited for the social worker whom the police had contacted to arrive, and escort him to temporary accommodations that the system provided for minors in his situation. Ethan shifted in the chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

He sighed. 

This development annoyed him in a way that he could feel building inside his thoughts, it made him tap his fingers on the table surface with a rhythm that matched his growing frustration. The requirement to involve child services complicated his plans which he had laid out so carefully and it forced him into a position where he depended on others for his immediate movements. However, that inconvenience would not last indefinitely, the time remaining until his birthday fell in a few months. Once that day arrived and he turned eighteen, he would gain the legal freedom to choose his own residence without interference from authorities or guardians who no longer applied to him.

Ethan leaned back in the chair where the backrest pressed against his spine and he allowed his mind to wander toward the sequence of events that had led him to this room. 

He was annoyed with himself. 

The fact that he had overlooked the possibility that Iron Row might have connected him to the death of Creedence Upshaw was an amateur move. In his planning which he had executed almost perfectly, he had accounted for police investigations and potential witnesses but he had not fully considered the internal networks within the gang that could trace actions back to him. 

This oversight gnawed at him. 

The annoyance shifted gradually from self-directed criticism to a broader resentment toward Iron Row as a whole; he felt a surge of ideas forming in his mind on how he could dismantle the organization entirely. He needed to preserve his anonymity which he valued above all other considerations. So he could not allow the gang to expose his activities to the public or the authorities in a way that compromised his position. If the situation demanded that he eliminate every member of Iron Row whom he identified as a threat, then he would pursue that course without hesitation.

Ethan's line of thinking broke suddenly when he noticed the camera in the corner of the room, he observed that the red light which indicated recording had turned off. He raised one eyebrow in response to the change and moved his hands under the table where they rested out of sight. With a subtle motion he palmed a shard of glass from his sleeve which he had concealed there earlier as a precaution.

He heard the door handle make a sound, then it turned with a click before the door swung open inward. A large man with a hat and a trench coat walked inside, Ethan immediately recognised him as Detective Harvey Bullock. The man walked inside the room and closed the door behind him with a firm push.

Harvey looked at Ethan who remained seated at the table, he greeted him with a nod, "Hey, kid, you remember me?" He asked. 

Ethan returned the greeting, "Yes, I do remember you, Detective Bullock, and it was you who interviewed me at Gotham Academy," he replied.

Harvey nodded in acknowledgment as he stepped further into the room and pulled out the chair across from Ethan before he sat down in it. He leaned forward slightly with his elbows on the table, "I'm sorry about what happened to your parents, you have my condolences for the loss," he said with a sympathetic look. 

"Thank you for that, Detective," Ethan said giving him a small fake smile. 

Harvey adjusted his position in the chair which creaked under his movement, "This whole ordeal has been pretty crazy for everyone involved... and to be honest with you I can't help but find itstrange that a whole hit squad would go after a couple of people who used drugs."

He paused for a moment before he added, "They must have owed a lot of money to Iron Row for that kind of response."

Ethan shrugged his shoulders in a casual manner, "I wouldn't know about the details, Detective, and I tried to stay away from that part of their lives."

Harvey smiled in response though the expression held no genuine warmth, "Of course, that was a smart decision on your part, I wouldn't expect anything less from a student at Gotham Academy who knows how to handle himself."

Harvey then leaned forward more intently with his hands clasped on the table and he lowered his voice slightly, "But it's also possible... they weren't there for your parents at all."

Ethan maintained his composure, he feigned confusion in his expression, "What do you mean by that, Detective?"

Harvey grinned though the gesture carried no humor in it, he reached into his coat pocket where he pulled out a file that he placed on the table. He pushed the file forward toward Ethan and he opened it to reveal a photograph inside when he said, "Do you know who this man is?"

Ethan looked at the picture which depicted Creedence Upshaw and recognized the face immediately from the encounter he had, "It looks like the same guy you showed me at Gotham Academy, I believe his name is Creedence?"

Harvey tapped the photograph with one finger as he explained, "Correct. He's a member of Iron Row who held a high position in their operations, as you know it was his murder that we were investigating at the time."

Ethan tilted his head slightly, "I don't see how this relates to the murder of my family, Detective."

Harvey laughed in a way that filled the room briefly and leaned back in the chair, "I don't know if you were made aware during the initial interviews, but the reason we focused on Gotham Academy was that we found a ripped piece of blazer at the scene of the crime."

Ethan nodded along with the explanation as he listened without interrupting.

Harvey leaned forward again with his eyes fixed on Ethan, "Now, do you want to know what I think happened?"

Ethan didn't reply verbally and just stared at Harvey across the table.

Harvey continued without waiting for a response, "I think that you killed Creedence Upshaw, and I think Iron Row found out about it, and I think while you were trying to divert the police from your trail with that bombing and the kidnapping of my partner, you walked right into their trap which led to this attack."

Ethan squeezed his fists beneath the table where they remained hidden from view, but he kept his face calm, "That's quite the theory, Detective, but it seems rather circumstantial and very unlikely to me, that piece of blazer could have come from any student at the academy." He added after a brief pause, "It's much more likely that a couple of degenerates who struggled with addiction failed to pay their debts and faced the consequences from their dealers."

Harvey raised eyebrow, "That's pretty heartless of you to say that about your own parents, kid."

Ethan shrugged again, "I'm sure you know better than most people that my parents weren't really parents to me in the way that term implies."

Harvey hummed. "That could be the case," he said while stroking his chin. Harvey suddenly stood up and threw the table across the room where it crashed against the wall. He grabbed Ethan by the collar with both hands and slammed him into the wall behind them, "Alright, you little psycho, you might convince everyone else with your act, but you can't trick me for a second," he shouted, spittle flying from his mouth.

He pressed closer with his face inches from Ethan's, "I know it's been you behind everything, the murder, the bombings, now you better fucking tell me where my partner is right now! What have you done with her!?"

Ethan pretended to struggle in Harvey's grasp as he twisted his body slightly, "Did something happen to your partner, Detective? You have my cond—"

Harvey slammed his fist into Ethan's face which cut off the words midsentence, "I'm not playing around with you, you little fuck, if you don't start talking right now, I'll make sure you regret every lie you've ever told."

He tightened his grip on the collar, "I've broken tougher people than you who thought they could outsmart me, I'll fucking make you wish you were dead."

Ethan however didn't say a thing in response, he just faintly smiled at Harvey despite the pain from the blow.

Harvey punched him again with force that snapped Ethan's head to the side and then again before he threw him to the ground where Ethan landed on the floor. Harvey stood over him, "It doesn't matter if you stay silent now, kid, I may not have been able to catch you out with the blazer the first time around, but you're fucked now."

"The tailor that Gotham Academy uses keeps a digital record of all their uniforms, meaning I just need to bring in the blazer piece and I can connect you directly to the scene of the crime through the serial numbers or whatever they track."

There was a slight shift in the air when Harvey said that. 

The Gotham Detective felt a shiver run up his spine. 

For the first time since their conversation started, Ethan let his mask drop completely and Harvey faced the presence of someone who showed no emotion, no guilt and no problem slitting his throat right there and then. Ethan stood up from the floor where he had fallen and looked around the room where he saw that the cameras remained off. He then approached Harvey slowly with steps that closed the distance between them.

"Do you want to end up the same way as Renee, Detective?"

"You Fucking—" Harvey swung his fist toward Ethan again, only he didn't get a chance to connect as Ethan slammed his own fist into the man's stomach which doubled him over. Ethan followed with a kick to the side of Harvey's knee that buckled the joint and sent him staggering.

Ethan sighed as he stepped back slightly, "I apologize, Detective, I don't know what's wrong with me, it seems you've enraged me beyond my capacity for logical thought... but in all fairness it's been a tough night, I just keep being reminded of my mistakes."

Harvey reached for his gun which holstered at his side, only for Ethan to kick it out of his hand where it skidded across the floor. Ethan then grabbed the detective by the neck with one hand and he lifted him off the ground and into the air with strength that surprised even himself in the moment.

"You ever have a really bad day, Detective?" He threw Harvey back into the wall where the impact echoed in the room and he dusted off his hands afterward. Ethan walked over to Harvey who slumped against the wall, he checked him over carefully with probing touches. Ethan noted the condition od the man and nodded, "Good, no broken bones from what I can tell, and very little bruising on you, meanwhile I have a bloody nose and a black eye from your actions."

"So while we could cause a scene and bring this in front of the commissioner, I doubt it would end well for you in the review that follows."

Harvey growled at him from the floor and shoved Ethan back with one hand as he pushed himself to his feet though with a little difficulty from the pain in his knee. He stood up fully and glared at the younger man, "I'll catch you eventually, kid, that's a promise I make to you right here."

Ethan smirked slightly in response but he didn't say anything further and just sat down in the chair again while he watched Harvey exit the room through the door which he slammed shut behind him.

Ethan remained seated in the chair after the door slammed shut, and closed his eyes for several seconds. He forced his breathing to slow into a regular pattern. He unclenched his fists one finger at a time until the tension left his hands completely, he rested his palms flat on his thighs while he regained the calm state that he preferred. The confrontation had escalated faster than he had expected; the fact that a single detective had pieced together so many elements of his activities disturbed him in a way that he rarely felt.

There should have been no logical path for Harvey to reach the conclusions that he had just stated aloud, yet the man had walked into the room with a file and a theory that came uncomfortably close to the truth. 

'Damn it,' he thought to himself with a quiet exhale that barely moved the air in the room. One more person now stood in his way, and that person happened to be a detective who refused to let go of the threads he had grasped.

In the end, though, the obstacle remained inconsequential when he measured Harvey against his own capabilities. Several methods already formed in his mind for removing the problem permanently, and one of those methods involved arranging a reunion between Harvey and Renee Montoya that would serve multiple purposes at once. The corner of his mouth to lift slightly at the thought before he smoothed his expression again.

Creak

The door opened once more. This time however it was not Harvey returning for another round. Instead, a middle-aged Black woman stepped inside with a soft smile on her face and a clipboard held against her chest. She wore a dark blue coat over a simple dress, and her hair was pulled back into a neat bun that kept every strand in place. "Hello, Ethan," she said in a warm voice as she extended her right hand toward him. "My name is Marley Branner, and I am the social worker assigned to your case tonight. It is nice to meet you, even under these circumstances."

Ethan stood up from the chair and he shook her hand with a grip that matched hers exactly. "It is nice to meet you as well, Ms. Branner," he replied while he released her hand and waited for her to continue.

Marley kept the smile in place while she spoke again. "I am truly sorry for everything you have been through today, and I know this has been an incredibly difficult night for you. I am here to take you to a temporary foster placement where you will be safe until we sort out longer-term arrangements."

Ethan nodded once in understanding while he kept his expression neutral.

Marley tilted her head slightly as she studied him for a moment, and then she asked, "Are you hungry at all, or do you need anything before we leave the station? We can stop anywhere you like on the way if there is something you want. Those cuts and bruises along your face also look a bit bad? They said you were cleared by the paramedics, but maybe we should go to Gotham General."

Ethan shook his head in response. "I am fine, thank you, it looks worse than it is," he said.

"All right," Marley replied as she gestured toward the open door. "Come with me, then, I just need to sign a few more papers at the front desk before we can head out."

Ethan nodded and followed her out of the interview room, they walked side by side through the corridors of the police station until They reached the front desk area where an officer stood behind the counter with a few forms in his hand. Marley greeted the officer by name and she picked up a pen that rested on the counter before she began signing her name in the required spaces. Ethan stood a few steps away with his hands clasped loosely in front of him while he waited for her to finish.

"Ethan."

He turned around and he saw Commissioner Gordon approaching from one of the side hallway. "How are you holding up?" Gordon asked with concern evident in his tone.

"I am managing, Commissioner," Ethan replied while he met the older man's gaze. "Thank you for asking."

Gordon nodded slowly. "I am sorry about your parents, I want you to know that if there is anything you need, anything at all, you can give me a call. If you feel you are in any danger from gang members or anyone else, you let me know immediately. Barbara will give you my direct number."

Ethan inclined his head in acknowledgment. "I appreciate that very much, Commissioner," he said. "Thank you."

Marley finished signing the last form at that moment and turned toward them with the clipboard now tucked under her arm. "I am just about done here," she announced with a small smile. "We can go now."

Gordon extended his hand toward Ethan, and they shook firmly, "Take care of yourself, son."

Ethan returned the handshake, "I will, sir."

Marley led the way toward the exit doors after that, and Ethan walked beside her until they stepped outside into the cool night air that moved across the parking lot. Police cruisers sat in rows under the floodlights, a few officers stood near the building entrance while they finished cigarettes or conversations. Marley pointed toward a dark blue sedan parked near the edge of the lot, and they crossed the asphalt until they reached the vehicle.

She opened the drivers door before she looked at Ethan, who she noticed had went into the back, "Would you like to sit in the front instead? There is plenty of room."

Ethan shook his head. "The back is fine," he answered as he slid into the rear seat and closed the door behind him.

Marley accepted the choice without comment before she climbed in and started the engine. The car pulled away from the parking space with a smooth motion, and she guided it toward the exit gate that opened automatically. Soon they merged into the late-night traffic that flowed along the streets surrounding the precinct. 

While Marley drove, she began to speak about the placement that awaited him. "The foster home where you will be staying is run by Victor and Rosa Vasquez," she explained as she kept her eyes on the road. "They have been foster parents for many years, they take in children of all ages who need a safe place, they aren't very local but Gotham to Philly is only around an hour and a half on the train so schooling shouldn't be an issue. There are also already several foster siblings living there right now, I think you will find that everyone gets along well together. The house itself sits in a quiet neighborhood, and the Vasquezes make sure there is always food on the table and someone to talk to if you need it. It is a very loving environment, I truly believe it will be good for you while we work through the next steps."

Ethan ignored her while he gazed out the window at the buildings that passed by, he noted street signs and landmarks automatically. Her words didn't really matter to him, as he did not intend to remain at the foster home for long. He simply nodded at appropriate intervals so that Marley would assume he followed everything she said.

The drive continued for another twenty minutes while traffic lights changed from red to green above them and other vehicles moved in and out of lanes around the sedan.  A separate concern pushed itself forward in his mind while the car moved through another green light. He had not fed Renee Montoya since yesterday morning. The woman remained secured in the abandoned mansion where he had left her with four bottles of water and several protein bars. Another full day without food would weaken her more than he would've liked, he had come to like her in a strange way that he himself didn't understand. 

He needed to slip away at some point during the night, retrieve additional supplies and give them to her. The schedule irritated him with its narrow margins, yet he accepted the necessity and began to map the route in his mind.

Marley glanced at him through the rear-view mirror, and interrupted his planning. "Ethan, do you like chocolate at all? I keep a couple of bars in the glove box for long nights, you are welcome to one if you want something sweet."

She reached forward with her right hand while she kept her left on the wheel, and pressed the button that opened the glove compartment. A small snub-nose revolver tumbled out with the movement and landed on the passenger-side floor mat with a dull thud. Marley gave a soft gasp. "I am so sorry about that, honey. I forgot it was loose in there, and I did not mean to startle you," she apologised quickly. 

Ethan looked at the gun for only a second before he smiled. "It is understandable, Ms. Branner. We live in Gotham, the city is a dangerous place for anyone who travels at night."

She offered him a relieved smile and returned her attention to the road while she nudged the revolver farther under the seat with her foot.

Howver the quiet moment didn't last much longer. 

Ethan registered the rising pitch of multiple engines behind them, and turned his head toward the rear window in time to see three large SUVs surge forward through traffic. The vehicles possessed custom frames with reinforced bumpers and blacked-out windows, they shoved civilian cars aside without slowing whenever a driver hesitated. Streetlights glinted off the spiked-chain emblem that Iron Row painted on every door panel.

The night, it seemed, refused to end.

The lead SUV drew level with the driver-side window, Ethan immediately dropped flat across the rear seat an instant before the first burst of automatic fire stitched across the roof. Glass exploded inward in a shower that rained over his back, and the sedan lurched violently as bullets punched through metal and upholstery alike. Marley screamed before the sound cut off with a wet gurgle, and the car began to drift sideways.

Ethan cursed under his breath while rounds continued to tear through the vehicle. If the car stopped completely, the gunmen would dismount and finish him, the other two SUVs already maneuvered to box him in from every angle. He twisted his body in the confined space, and he kicked upward with one foot against the locking mechanism of the front drivers seat. The seat back folded forward with a metallic snap, and he used his other leg to shove Marley's lifeless body into the footwell so that her foot pressed fully onto the accelerator pedal. He reached down with the same motion and slammed the seat lock back into place which pinned her leg.

The sedan surged forward again with a roar of the engine, and Ethan rolled into the gap between the seats while bullets whined overhead. He seized the steering wheel with one hand and yanked hard to the right, which sent the car fishtailing around a delivery van that had braked in panic. Sparks flew from the door panels as rounds chased him through the intersection.

One of the SUVs closed the distance on the passenger side until its bumper scraped along the sedan with a screech of metal on metal. Ethan stretched toward the revolver that lay on the floor mat, yet his fingers fell several inches short while he maintained control of the wheel. He released the steering wheel for a fraction of a second, lunged forward, and wrapped his hand around the grip just as a box truck loomed directly ahead in the lane. He jammed his right foot against the lower curve of the wheel to manoeuvre it around the truck, he raised the revolver in his left hand, and fired three rapid shots into the nearest SUV's front tire. The rounds sparked harmlessly off reinforced rubber that refused to shred.

The SUVs responded by ramming harder, and the sedan shuddered with each impact that threatened to spin it sideways. Ethan ducked while glass fragments sliced the air above his head, and realized that conventional methods would not end the pursuit quickly enough.

He activated Hyperadrenal.

Power flooded his limbs with the familiar burn that accompanied the state, every sound sharpened into crystalline clarity, sweat started pouring off him in droves. He gripped the passenger door handle with his free hand, and he tore the entire door from its hinges with a single wrenching push that sent bolts clattering across the roadway. Metal screamed in protest, yet the door came free in his grasp. He pivoted on the seat and hurled the detached door like a discus straight into the windshield of the closest pursuing SUV. The sheet of steel struck dead center, and the safety glass shattered inward on the driver who lost control immediately. The SUV veered hard left, clipped a parked taxi, and rolled sideways across two lanes before turning upside down and slamming into the side of the road.

A brief surge of satisfaction lasted less than a heartbeat as a bullet punched through his left shoulder from behind, the impact drove him forward against the dashboard and pain flared even through Hyperadrenal, he dropped lower to avoid more gunfire.

"You're fucking dead! You hear me! You're fucking dead!" He heard a voice call from the SUV

Ethan looked up through the shattered rear window and saw an unfamiliar man half out of the sunroof with his upper body exposed to the wind. Scars crisscrossed the man's face beneath a wild mane of hair that whipped in the slipstream, gold teeth flashed each time he opened his mouth. Tattoos of exploding skulls covered his bare arms where he gripped the roof edge with one hand, and he held an old-style revolver in the other.

Kieran licked a single bullet with a long lick before he slid it into the cylinder, spun the chamber, and fired toward the sedan. The round struck the trunk lid and failed to hit Ethan which amused him, yet a secondary explosion erupted a moment later that tore the rear axle apart in a bloom of orange fire. The sedan lifted off its back wheels before it slammed down hard and began to fishtail uncontrollably.

Ethan lost his grip on the interior as momentum hurled him sideways through the open passenger doorway where the missing door had once been. He managed to claw the rear bumper with both hands an instant before he would have tumbled onto the asphalt. His body swung outward into open air while the car careened forward at 80 miles an hour, the road blurred beneath him in a streak of sparks and torn metal.

He hung there for several seconds while pain from the shoulder wound competed with the road burn that stripped skin from his legs even through the fabric. Luckily Hyperadrenal kept unconsciousness at bay, and he managed to use the surge to haul himself upward hand over hand until he rolled onto the trunk lid where he lay flat against the vibrating metal.

Kieran laughed from the pursuing vehicle a huge grin on his face as he licked another bullet between scarred lips, chambered it with a flick of his wrist, and leveled the revolver once more while his SUV closed the final yards between them.

The world slowed for Ethan as he tried to think of what to do. The car he was on was right now uncontrollable and in less than ten seconds would likely crash and explode. They were going too fast for him to jump off, if he did he would most definitely impair his ability to walk and likely get killed anyway. He was backed into a corner with what seemed to be no way out. 

VROOOOOOMMMMM

The night split open with a roar that echoed throughout the street.

The SUV behind Kieran's suddenly started to loose control, its tires screamed across asphalt, the chassis lifted, and the entire SUV rolled sideways. A fuel tank ruptured on impact, and the fireball that followed rose twenty feet into the air with a dokie spine that slapped every eardrum on the street. Orange light painted the scene in strobing pulses, and for one heartbeat everything went silent.

Then something dark tore through the smoke and fire.

It was fast, incredibly fast, a black projectile that punched straight through the rolling wreckage as if the burning SUV were no more than tissue paper. Sparks showered in its wake. The shape formed into a vehicle that looked unlike anything they had ever seen, and something more akin to a tank than a car. Twin exhausts glowed faint blue with afterburner heat, and the roar that followed it was deeper than any engine had a right to be. Tires wider than a man's torso bit into the pavement as it caught up with their cars. 

Kieran's scarred face twisted in recognition and pure hatred. "No. No no no no, not him!" The words tore out of his throat in a snarl as he swung his revolver toward the new arrival. He fired. The bullet left the barrel already glowing from the saliva he had licked across it, and it deflected against the armour and detonated behind it. The explosion blossomed harmlessly above the street like a brief orange flower.

Every remaining Iron Row gunman opened fire at once. Muzzle flashes strobed inside both SUVs, and bullets ricocheted off the armored hull in showers of white sparks that died before they touched the ground. The black vehicle did not even rock under the onslaught.

Ethan, meanwhile, clung to the trunk of Marley's ruined sedan while it continued to rock and almost soon in widening circles with no driver and no rear axle. The sedan's momentum carried it sideways toward the Iron Row SUV, and Ethan saw his only window. He pushed off with both legs, launched himself upward, and twisted in flight so that he landed chest-first across the hood of Kieran's vehicle. The impact dented the metal and sent the driver into a panicked swerve that scraped sparks along a row of parked cars.

Kieran whipped around at the sudden weight on the hood. "You little piece of shit!" he roared. "I'm gonna peel your fucking skin off in strips!" He leveled the revolver point-blank.Ethan dropped flat and lashed out with both legs in a scissor kick that caught Kieran's wrist perfectly. The revolver spun away into the night, still firing as it fell. 

Hummmm

Ethan looked at Kieran... he could feel it, he wasn't close enough before, but now he could feel the Meta power inside of him. Ethan felt himself greedily reaching for him, he pushed himself up and moved forward in an attempt to grab any part of him. 

But Kieran spat a thick glob straight into Ethan's chest. The saliva detonated on contact. Fire bloomed across Ethan's chest and burned through shirt and skin in an instant, hurling him backward off the hood. Only a desperate grab at the ornamental chain emblem kept him from tumbling under the wheels.

However before Kieran could finish Ethan off, A black silhouette exploded from the roof of the armored vehicle in a single leap that carried it twenty feet through the air. White lenses caught the firelight for a fraction of a second before the figure crashed feet-first onto the SUV's roof with a sound like a wrecking ball. Metal buckled inward. Kieran had time for one startled snarl before he slashed his own palm open with a knife and whipped an arc of blood across the air. The droplets ignited into a wall of flame and explosions that expanded outward in a perfect circle.

The Batman charged straight through it. Flames parted around reinforced armor that glowed dull red for an instant and then cooled. A single armored kick drove upward under Kieran's jaw with the full weight of a two-hundred-fifty-pound man moving at sprint speed. Kieran's head snapped back, gold teeth scattering across the windshield like coins, and he collapsed bonelessly into the sunroof opening.

The vigilante pivoted without pause, dropped to the hood in a crouch, and reached down with one hand. Fingers closed around the back of Ethan's jacket and lifted him clear of the vehicle as casually as someone picking up a backpack. For three full seconds they hung there, suspended above the car: the vigilante in black and the blood-soaked teenager with half his chest burned raw. Neither spoke. White lenses met pale, unblinking eyes, and something passed between them that required no words. 

Then the vigilante hurled Ethan sideways.

The throw was perfect. Ethan sailed in a clean arc through the air and into the open canopy of the Batmobile and landed across seats that absorbed the impact easily. He looked around At the screens which m flickered to life around him, displaying wireframe maps, heart-rate monitors, ballistic trajectories, and a hundred other readouts in a blue light. Every surface was matte carbon and brushed alloy. 

Outside, the Batman made short work of the remaining gunmen. A grapple line fired into the driver-side window of the second SUV, which he yanked once, and the vehicle flipped end-over-end before it slammed into a streetlight pole. Less than ten seconds after landing on the roof, every Iron Row member lay unconscious or groaning in the wreckage.

The Batmobile, rolled forward and stopped beside the ruined SUV. The canopy hissed open. Ethan climbed out slowly, every movement sending fresh fire across his burned chest and shoulder. Batman secured the last handcuffs with a click, then straightened and approached.

"Do you need to go to a hospital?" The voice that emerged was deep, electronically modulated, and impossible to place even for Ethan.

Ethan looked down at himself: blood soaked his left side, skin hung in blackened strips across his sternum, and road rash covered both forearms. 

He nodded.

The vigilante tilted his head toward the open cockpit in invitation.

Ethan climbed back in without hesitation. The canopy sealed above them, engines spooled with a subsonic growl, the Batmobile accelerated into the night. Neither occupant spoke for the entire eight-minute journey. Gotham General's emergency bay lights grew brighter ahead, painting the interior in rotating red and blue. When the vehicle stopped at the ambulance entrance, Ethan pushed the canopy release and stepped onto the pavement. Pain lanced through him the moment his feet touched ground, but he kept his posture straight.

"Thank you," he said quietly, "for the help, and for the ride."

The vigilante gave a single, almost imperceptible nod from the shadows of the cowl, then the Batmobile reversed smoothly and vanished into the darkness with only the faintest whisper of displaced air.

The instant the taillights disappeared, Ethan let Hyperadrenal turn off.

Agony crashed over him like a tidal wave. Every nerve that had been dulled by the meta state now screamed at full volume. His knees buckled. He dropped hard to the concrete, one hand clutching the ruined flesh across his chest while the other scraped uselessly for purchase. Vision tunneled to a gray pinprick.

Shouts erupted from the emergency entrance. Nurses and orderlies burst through the automatic doors with a gurney already rolling. Hands grabbed him under the arms and knees, voices called for burn kits and trauma panels, the last thing Ethan felt before darkness claimed him was the cold bite of a blood-pressure cuff snapping around his arm while fluorescent lights rolled overhead.

_____________________________________

Beep... beep... beep...  

Beep... beep... beep...

Beep... beep... beep...

Beep... beep... beep...

Ethan woke to the mechanical heartbeat of the monitor beside his bed. The sound threaded through the dull stati in his ears and pulled him up from the unconsciousness he was in. His eyelids felt glued shut; when he forced them open the hospital room swam in smears of white and pale green. Pain erupted everywhere: a hot spike in his left shoulder, a raw sheet of fire across his chest, the throb of road rash along both legs. He tasted copper and antiseptic in his mouth. 

For several seconds he did nothing except breathe through his nose while the ceiling tiles sharpened into focus.

He pushed himself upright with his right arm, the only limb that did not protest too violently. The sheet slid down to his waist and revealed thick layers of gauze and tape that covered him from collarbone to ribs. IV lines tugged at the crook of his elbow when he moved. He turned his head slowly, cataloguing the room: privacy curtain half-drawn, window blinds letting in thin slices of afternoon light, a single plastic chair beside the bed.

"Ethan?"

The voice came from the doorway. He looked over and saw Barbara standing there in her Gotham Academy uniform, blazer unbuttoned, red hair escaping its ponytail in wmall wisps. Her eyes were wide when she saw him. She crossed the room in three wuick steps and reached the bedside before he could fully sit.

"Oh my God, Ethan, you're awake." The words spilled out of her in a rush, tumbling over one another. "I was so scared. Dad only told me bits and pieces and then you were in surgery for hours and they wouldn't let me see you until this morning, I am so, so sorry I didn't come to the station that night your parents died. I wanted to, I swear I did, but Dad said no, I should have just come anyway and—" Her voice cracked on the last word. She stopped, pressed her lips together, and reached for his right hand with both of hers.

Ethan opened his mouth to answer and produced only a dry croak. His throat felt like sandpaper.

Barbara noticed immediately. "Water, hold on." She spun to the bedside table, grabbed the pink plastic pitcher, poured into a cup with shaking fingers, and popped a flexible straw between his lips. "Slow sips, okay?"

Cool water slid down his throat and brought the first real relief he had felt since he woke up. He drank until the cup was empty, then let his head rest back against the pillow while Barbara kept hold of his hand. She pressed the nurse-call button with her free hand. "He's awake," she said into the speaker the instant a voice answered. "He's awake can someone come check on him please?"

Less than a minute later a nurse in dark-blue scrubs entered. She checked the monitor, shone a penlight into Ethan's eyes, took his temperature, and palpated the pulse in his wrist while asking quiet questions he answered with nods or single words. Satisfied, she stepped back into the corridor and returned moments later with the attending physician.

Dr. Patel was a thin man with kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. He reviewed the tablet chart, then addressed Ethan directly.

"Mr. Kane, you gave us quite a scare. Multiple gunshot trauma, second- and third-degree burns over fifteen percent of your anterior torso, road rash, concussion, and substantial blood loss. Frankly, most people do not arrive on our doorstep in the condition you did and leave under their own power." He offered a small, professional smile. "However you will make a complete recovery, but it will take time. We removed all bullet fragments, debrided the burns, and started you on aggressive antibiotics and pain management. Another few days of observation, then a week or two of restricted activity, and you should be whole again."

Ethan managed a hoarse, "Thank you, Doctor." He cleared his throat. "When can I be discharged?"

Barbara's grip tightened. "Ethan, no. You just woke up."

Dr. Patel lifted a hand in gentle agreement with her. "Miss Gordon is correct. We need to confirm the burns are grafting well and that there is no infection. Earliest discussion of discharge will be in five to seven days, and only if everything progresses perfectly."

Ethan absorbed the information, then nodded and settled back against the pillows. "Understood."

Barbara did not release his hand for the next several hours.

...

Over the following nine days the hospital room became a second home. Nurses changed dressings twice daily; physical therapists arrived to move his shoulder through careful ranges of motion; Barbara appeared every afternoon after classes and stayed until visiting hours ended, sometimes sneaking back in after hours to cuddle and kiss him. She brought books, homework printouts, cafeteria food, and a running commentary on everything happening at Gotham Academy.

On the second night, the ward was quiet and there was only night staff, Ethan disconnected his monitors, dressed in clothes Barbara had brought, and walked out through an unattended service corridor. It took three buses and a long walk to reach the abandoned mansion where Renee Montoya remained chained in the sub-basement. He found her conscious but gaunt, lips cracked, eyes sunken. Guilt flickered through him as he saw her... an unfamiliar emotion. He left three gallons of water, four bags of non-perishable food, a battery lantern, and a note that simply read I apologize for the delay. Then he returned to the hospital before dawn and reattached the leads as if he had never left.

The next afternoon Barbara arrived practically vibrating with excitement. "Dad said yes," she announced without preamble. "You're coming home with us when they discharge you. Temporary placement until everything settles. I talked him into it."

Ethan stared at her for a long moment in slight disbelief. Commissioner James Gordon had agreed to shelter the very teenager Iron Row had tried to erase, fully accepting of the fact that they might do it again and his family could get caught in it.

Discharge came on the tenth day. A nurse wheeled him to the hospital entrance where Commissioner Gordon waited beside the family car. Ethan walked the last twenty feet under his own power, shook the commissioner's hand with a polite thank-you, and climbed into the back seat beside Barbara.

When they arrived at their home they led him through the front door, down a flight of stairs, and into the basement that had been hastily converted. A twin bed with fresh sheets sat against one wall; a desk and chair occupied another corner; the rest of the space held a weight bench, a heavy bag, and a pull-up bar. 

"It's my gym," Barbara explained with pink cheeks, "but the bed is yours and the bathroom is right there and you can lock the door from the inside any time you want privacy. I won't just come in."

That night he lay on the narrow mattress in the basement of the police commissioner's home and listened to the faint creak of floorboards overhead as the household settled. Somewhere above him James Gordon reviewed case files on a bombing at City Hall and a missing officer. Somewhere in the city Renee Montoya ate canned ravioli by lantern light and wondered if anyone would ever find her. Somewhere beyond the walls Iron Row would no doubt come back for more, even if their leader was gone.

Ethan Kane murderer of Creedence Upshaw, architect of explosions that had destroyed city hall, kidnapper of a GCPD detective now slept twenty feet below the man whose job it was to stop him.

He stared at the exposed ceiling beams for a long time.

Eventually he sighed, turned onto his side, and let the darkness take him.

(AN: So here you have it we have Ethan's first encounter with the Batman who will serve to be his nemesis. We have Kieren who has supposedly been arrested by the police but who knows how long that'll last. Ethan is now living with the Police Commissioner, I'm sure many of you must be wondering what he was thinking, if ol Jimmy is stupid, who knows maybe he is. Anyway hope you enjoyed.