Batman: Eternal: Season 3, Episode 13 - BLACK OP:15

“You’re gonna be alright,” Tim said, knowing full well Bruce couldn’t hear him, “You’re gonna be alright.


- - -


In a dilapidated bar in Arizona, the Suicide Squad, along with Dick Grayson and Superman, stared down a global assassin.

Slade Wilson.

Diablo opened his palms, allowing flames to dance around the interior of the bar. There was no way Slade was escaping.

Deadshot was slowly lifted into the sky thanks to spell from Enchantress.

“Okay, so we’re doing this,” Slade grumbled, standing up.

“You know, you could just come with us,” Superman suggested, “Save us both the trouble.”

“I know,” Slade muttered, “But if there’s even a slight chance I’ll make it outta this, I’m taking that chance.”

“Zero chance,” Dick said, “That dude with the S? He’s basically a God.”

“I guess I’ll be fighting a God today,” Slade said, drawing a pistol from his waistband.

“Go,” Rick Flag ordered over the comms.

Deadshot fired off a few shots at Slade. He easily sprung away, before returning fire. Three bullets. One bullet caught Deadshot in the arm, knocking him off balance. He fell from the platform Enchantress had created for him. Before Enchantress could conjure up another one, Slade fired three more times through the flaming doorway of the bar. The bullets found their mark in Enchantress’s side. She collapsed, allowing Deadshot to fall all the way back to the ground.

Superman lurched forward, ready to save Deadshot, but Colonel Flag told him to hang back. Let the Squad handle it.

Killer Croc roared, swinging wildly as he charged at Slade. Slade grabbed a full bottle of whiskey from behind the bar, and hurled it at Killer Croc’s face. It shattered, sending shards of glass across the beast’s eyes. Croc stumbled back in shock.

“Colonel, should I intervene?” Superman asked, warily.

“Wait. Let my Squad do their thing. You’re out last resort.”

Superman grit his teeth as he saw the Squad fail to do anything to Slade.

With only Dick and Diablo left in fighting condition on the ground, Slade took a breather.

“There’s no way you’re winning this,” Dick promised, “Even if we fail, you can’t beat Superman.”

“So why not send him down now?” Slade questioned.

“I’m wondering the same thing,” Dick sighed.

Slade grabbed another bottle, this one nearly empty. He finished it off in one swig before breaking off the end. He hopped over the counter, and sauntered over to Dick.

“Give up,” Dick said.

“I never do,” Slade growled, swiping at Dick with the bottle. Dick leaned back, the bottle only nicking his nose.

Slade lunged again, this time clipping Dick’s shoulder.

Diablo was sweating profusely. After Dick, he was next on the chopping block. He redirected his flames towards Slade, letting the doorway stand wide open.

Slade seized this opportunity. He fired twice through the firestorm to spook Diablo, temporarily cutting off the flames. He then allowed Dick to land a non-vital jab against his side. Dick pulled back, shocked he’d made contact. In this split second, Slade flicked the bottle out of his hand, and into Dick’s chest. Luckily, Dick was hit with the blunt side of the bottle, but the sheer force knocked him over.

Slade raced outside of the bar, hopped in a rusted pickup, and began to speed away.

Slade smiled to himself. He was…

He was stopping. The car rolled to a complete stop only a few feet away from the bar. Captain Boomerang gave him a quick wave, holding a boomerang that as dripping with oil.

Dick raced out of the bar, but slowed when he saw Slade was going nowhere.

“Looks like you’re outta luck,” a high pitched voice squealed. Dick whipped around to see Harleen Quinzel, or Harley Quinn, or whatever people called her, aiming a high caliber rifle at Slade.

Slade whipped his pistol up and yanked on the trigger. Nothing.

“And outta bullets as well,” Harley said, “Try and reload and the truck gets a new paint job. Blood red.”

Slade clenched his jaw and slowly put his hands up.

“Batkid, get him,” Colonel Flag ordered.

Dick ran over to Slade, and threw a pair of powerful cuffs over his wrists. Something he wouldn’t be able to break out of.

“Bravo amigos,” Colonel Flag clapped slowly, “And Wilson, great performance.”

“Great performance?” Superman thundered, “Some of your soldiers almost died!”

“Almost,” Colonel Flag nodded, “Deadshot’s still alive. So is Enchantress I’d say this was a success.”

“And that’s your issue, Colonel,” Superman said, then caught himself, “With all due respect.”

“What’s my issue, E.T.?” Colonel Flag narrowed his eyes, “Pray tell.”

“Nevermind, sir,” Superman swallowed.

“No, Superman, you’re right,” Dick said, “Let’s cut the bullshit. No more faking respect just because Waller told us to.”

“Wait-” Superman started.

“Flag, you are an overbearing, uncompromising, charmless asshole,” Dick delivered, “Everything has to happen on your watch. Your way. You see these people as cannon fodder.”

“That’s what they are, boy,” Colonel Flag growled, marching over to Dick, “Scum of the Earth crooks.”

“The world isn’t black and white,” Dick stated, “I’d know.”

“Colonel, if you were to see this team, these people, as living beings, perhaps they’d function better. Knowing they have value. Knowing they mean something.”

“Value is overrated,” Harley sighed shrugging, “Especially if it’s value from Ricky.”

“They don’t want praise. And they sure as hell don’t deserve it,” Colonel Flag spat.

“Put a sock in it, Colonel,” Dick said.

“Know your place, boy,” Colonel Flag rumbled.

“Don’t talk to me like that,” Dick warned.

The two men squared up to each other, seemingly daring the other top swing first.

“Now, now,” Superman said, floating between them, “Let’s turn down the testosterone. And focus on getting Deathstroke back to A.R.G.U.S.”

“I won’t be told what to do by an alien freak,” Colonel Flag said, striking Superman across the face.

It stung. Not the slap. The words. He’d heard them before.

‘Freak.’

And only recently ‘Alien.’ The people who spoke it let it ooze with hate. As if anyone not like them was evil, somehow corrupted.

“Excuse me?” Superman whispered.

“Speak up,” Colonel Flag dared.

“Excuse me?” Superman boomed.

“You heard me,” Colonel Flag said, an ugly smirk on his face.

Superman gripped Colonel Flag by his shirt, and flew up into the sky.

“Now you listen to me, Mister Rick Flag,” Superman said, seething, “I am an alien. And perhaps a little freakish. But you? You’re a sad little runt. A bully. A man who wants to appear powerful in front of those with outlandish powers. You thrive off control. Up here? You have no control. And I can see you for who you truly are.”

Colonel Flag whimpered as tears pooled in his eyes.

“You are a coward, Rick Flag,” Superman stated, “A coward.”

With that, he flew Colonel Flag back to the ground, where he released him, and glided over to Slade.

Colonel Flag said nothing. He got back in the helicopter, and waited for the rest of the squad. They arrived with Slade Wilson in custody.


- - -


“So how was it?” Tim asked, pulling away from Gotham Academy.

“Boring. I knew it all.”

“Ah, come on Damian, surely there was something new,” Tim protested.

“You are correct. I did learn something. The children I walk among in that school are idiots,” Damian said.

“Well your speaking is more fluid,” Tim noticed, “Did you learn all of that today?”

“I am adapting,” Damian said, “Taking my basic knowledge of this language, I slowly picked up more words and phrases, modifying my own word bank.”

“Jeez. Why didn’t we put in school sooner?” Tim muttered, flicking his blinker.

“Perhaps I would have grown so intelligent that I would have gone… sur… got gooder… better than you, Timothy,” Damian finally got out.

“Uh huh,” Tim nodded, smiling.

“Do not mock me, child!” Damian exclaimed.

“You calling me child?” Tim laughed, “That’s rich.”

Damian put on a pouty face and crossed his arms.

“I’m messing with you, Damian,” Tim sighed, ruffling Damian’s hair. It had grown out quite a bit from when he had arrived. It now almost reached his nose when let down, and was quite shaggy.

“Okay,” Damian said, quietly, “It okay.”

Tim’s calm smile returned as they made their way back to Wayne Manor.

As soon as they walked inside, they were greeted by Bruce walking around as if everything were normal. He glanced up to see them, and his eyes widened.

“What are- who are-?” Bruce started.

“Bruce, are you okay?” Tim asked, warily.

“Mom! Dad!” Bruce called, “There’s someone here!”

“Bruce, I think you should have a seat,” Tim advised, slowly approaching.

“Who are you?” Bruce warbled.

“The Phantom Zone, Bruce, it messed with your mind,” Tim said, “Screwing up your memories.”

Bruce sat down, eyes wild. Something indeed felt off. Something in his past. Not quite right.


- - -


14 YEARS AGO…

Bruce hung his head in shame, blood dripping from his combat suit that he had dredged up from deep within the grounds of Wayne Manor.

No. He had made it. He thought. Taken the time away from the siege of Gotham to prepare a suit in order to take up arms against Ra’s al Ghul. But his mind was muddled. For some reason he thought he had just found it.

What good reason would he have for just having a suit for battle laying around?

“You finally wake,” Ra’s said, dark skin illuminated by small shards of light.

A recollection of recent events came to Bruce in an instant. Broadcasting himself to Gotham. He shouldn’t have done that. He didn’t do that. Did he?

“You can keep me here,” Bruce said, “As long as you want. I will never take your place.”

“Never?” Ra’s asked, “Even if it means saving your city? Your parents?”

Bruce was shocked. His parents were dead. Although he remembered seeing them when he had returned to Wayne Manor. That couldn’t have been real. Why would he have left in the first place, and got tangled up with Ra’s al Ghul?

“Where are my parents?” Bruce questioned, “I want to see them. Now.”

“Very well,” Ra’s nodded.

Bruce’s eyes widened. It was this easy?

“If you take your spot as the leader of the League of Assassins, you can request the presence of your parents on your time,” Ra’s said.

Bruce longed to see his parents. He felt as they had been gone. Missing. He needed to be with them.

“I accept,” Bruce said, voice wavering. The man who stood up was no longer Bruce Wayne. But not Khafaash either. A new man. Ra’s al Ghul.

“I knew you would,” the old Ra’s al Ghul, now simply a man named Azzam, smiled, bowing, “All hail the Demon.”

The New Ra’s al Ghul looked at his old master, bowing before him.

“Stand,” Bruce (the New Ra’s; we’ll call him Bruce for simplicity’s sake --Mock) ordered.

Azzam got to his feet. Bruce reached over and drew Azzam’s sword, pointing it at his throat.

“You have caused much carnage, Ra’s-” Bruce began.

“Azzam,” the man corrected, “I am simply Azzam now.”

“Azzam. The fury you have brought upon this city will not and cannot be forgiven. As the leader of this League, I will be taking us in a new direction. One less obsessed with destruction,” Bruce stated, nobly.

“I know you,” Azzam said, voice changing, “You are the one obsessed with destruction. Violence.”

Azzam began to grow darker. Darker. He grew long ears on the top of his head. Like a bat. A long cape unfurled down his back as a black symbol spread across his chest.

“You are no better than the League you tried to destroy,” the creature, Batman, in front of him growled, “The Batman is a villain.”

Something inside of Bruce pinged. This was not how any of this happened.

“I am no villain,” Bruce defended himself, “The Batman protects the people of Gotham. His methods may be dangerous, and sometimes reckless, but he keeps himself from killing. He keeps himself from becoming one of them.”

“Yet you were about to drive that sword through my throat,” Batman hissed.

Bruce let the sword clatter to the floor.

“This-” Bruce began, “This isn’t real. Fake. All of it. I suppose it began back when I got the suit. We both know that I made that damn thing from scratch. I didn’t just pull it out of my ass. And I would never reveal myself to the public like that. If I did, how would you be… you?”

Batman squinted.

“I may not have the greatest of pasts,” Bruce admitted, “The senseless murder of my parents. The slaughter of the Kristall. The time away from home when I allowed the person who loved me to think I was dead. My return, in all its chaos. My brutal methods. My failures with Jason and Barbara and Oswald. Hell, I even failed Dick. And Tim. Dragged them into my crusade, not thinking of how it would shape their lives. But for all the ways it’s dragged them down, it’s brought them up even more. I believe that. I truly do.”

Batman growled from deep within, slowly receding.

“So I’ll bring Damian in. I’ll use my failures to strengthen him, and empower me. I will be the best version of me. My demons won’t stop me.”

Batman vanished in a cloud of curling smoke.

“Bruce?”

Bruce blinked a few times, looking around.

“Bruce, we’re proud of you,” a deep voice bellowed.

“You’ve grown up strong, brave, passionate,” a higher voice followed.

“This may not have been the life we imagined for you,” the deep voice admitted.

“Or perhaps not even the best version of your life,” the high voice said, warmly.

“This is the path you chose. And you’ve followed through.”

“We could not be any prouder.”

Bruce could not see. He could only feel. The warm embrace of his parents. He felt peace.

“Bruce, wake up,” a separate voice said. Bruce saw Dick leaning over him.


PRESENT…

“Bruce, wake up,” Dick said, waving a hand over Bruce’s face.

The world around him came into focus. He was in bed. The bedroom, and everything in it, seemed completely normal. Natural light streamed through the large window.

“You feeling okay?” Tim elbowed Dick out of the way.

“Yes,” Bruce nodded, blinking, “I am.”

“Do you remember anything?” Tim asked.

“The fits of rage. The muddled past. The Phantom Zone. Tam. Oh God, Tim, I’m so sorry.”

Tim bit his lip for a moment, then relaxed his expression, “I forgive you, Bruce. As long as you follow through and help me find her.”

“That shouldn’t be any issue. I did a favor for Amanda Waller-” Dick began.

Bruce grunted, sitting up.

“Bruce is a big fan,” Tim said.

“Superman and I-” Dick tried again.

“Are you intentionally teaming up with people who piss me off?” Bruce raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry, Bruce, that everyone pisses you off,” Dick retorted, “Point is, the Big Blue Boy Scout and I ran a mission with the Suicide Squad. To help them find a sense of respect for their leader. Unfortunately, their leader is a spineless pussy. With no sense of respect for his team. Regardless, we helped the team as a whole, so Amanda gave me what I wanted. Information about the Phantom Zone. And the device in your skull.”

Bruce touched a hand to his temple, seriously concerned. “You mean to tell me you implanted a device given to you by Amanda Waller… inside my head? Do you know what else she puts in people’s heads?”

“I’m fully aware, Bruce,” Dick sighed, “But it helped, didn’t it? It works as a sort of vacuum-”

“For lack of a better term,” Tim interjected.

Dick cast a strange glance at him.

“What?” Tim shrugged, “I checked it out. Essentially, it absorbs the Phantom Energy from your body, relinquishing control back to you. Did you really think I’d let Dick shove something in your brain without me screening it?”

“Thank you, Tim, for your trust,” Dick said.

“Anytime.”

“I gotta go,” Dick said, heading out of the room, “I promised your favorite superhero a round of drinks on me.”

“Looks like your protégé is in league with your rival,” Tim smiled.

Dick peeked back in the room for a moment, “One last thing. Well, two. The device isn’t all I got out of the operation. Waller is willing to help Tim find Tam. And the op? We captured Deathstroke.”


- - -


Deep inside Belle Reve, Amanda Waller sat across from Floyd Lawton in a dimly lit room.

“Atmospheric,” Floyd noted.

“Deadshot, after that last mission, it’s clear that my dear Rick Flag simply isn’t cutting it,” Waller delivered.

“Observant,” Floyd smiled.

“Lawton, please,” Waller sighed, “More than one word responses.”

“Sure thing,” Floyd nodded, holding up two fingers.

“Christ,” Waller grumbled, “Look, I know this isn’t all there is to Floyd Lawton. You’re more than a hired gun with an attitude.”

“Tell me, what am I?” Floyd leaned forward.

“Someone who gives a damn,” Waller stated, “I listened in on the comms. You care about Batman, for God’s sake. You actually care about others, no matter how much you try to cover it up.”

Floyd slumped back, no response.

“Task Force X needs a new leader. Are you up to the job?”