Fearless Epilogue: The Final Puzzle

=====Butchinsky's=====

 

Chuck sat down, unperturbed by the anxious glances of his fellow Misfits. "Cola, please Len." he says cheerily, as he taps his fingers on the bar. Fiasco nods, and disappears into the backroom, where Batman, Walker and Lynns lie waiting. Gar smokes a cigarette, atop a crate of lager, Drury slouches on the ground, and Batman stands as dramatic as ever. "Well?" he asks expectantly.

 

"Fucking hell, it's like Blake never left..."

 

"He only asked for a soda," Chancer muttered, as he followed in after Len.

 

"He *never* asks for soda," Len replied, a sour look on his face. "I've got an unopened case from 2012 for god's sake. How long will it last?"

 

Bruce sighed. "The truth is, we don't know... We don't even have a cure for his... condition."

 

…

 

Fiasco looked through the doorway, Chuck sitting there calmly. "Great."

 

"Frankly, I think he's made some real improvements," Gar says without thinking.

 

"Lynns, please. He's not right in the head, he blew up ACE Chemicals."

 

"Awesome," Chancer smirks.

 

"Who hasn't," Drury mutters bitterly. "*I've* blown up ACE Chemicals."

 

"When?" Gar asks back in disbelief.

 

"Look, I gotta go back out there," Len groaned, "Dru, pass me a coke out that crate, aye?" taking the can, shaking it, then heading out, Sharpe in pursuit.

 

"Can I have one, actually?" Chancer asks. Len looks at him for a second, then marches back into the bar.

 

"Well, that told us nothing," Drury murmured, as he watched Batman pace around the storeroom. Something wasn't right. He was whispering to himself. Barely audible.

 

"The Watchtower has the Lantern... A.R.G.U.S has Dent... Scarecrow's in Gotham General, paralysed from the waist down, monitored by an armed guard... So what... What am I missing...?"

 

"I don't remember you inviting *me* to ACE," Gar said accusingly, turning to Drury.

 

"You never asked!" he shot back.

 

Of course, Bruce thought. "Stop," he called out, instantly silencing the duo, then turning to Gar. "Lynns, I'm going to need you to meet me at Van Cleer Manor. I'll brief you on the way."

 

"Hang on, that's my house-" Drury cried in protest, "What am I supposed to do?"

 

"Lynns!" Batman called impatiently, now halfway out the door.

 

"Drury, it's... It's probably nothing," Gar said sheepishly. "Won't be long."

 

"Right," Drury nodded, as the two disappeared into the night, the roar of the Batmobile's engines and the buzz of Gar's wings getting fainter and fainter. Alone in the backroom, he helped himself to a bottle of Len's finest, and drank in silence.

 

"You gonna explain what the hell is going on? I don't like leaving Drury," Gar asked over comms, flying after Bruce.

 

"If Drury's been exposed, he could be more dangerous than Brown, maybe more than Dent. Right now, Fiasco's is the safest place for him," Bruce explained, turning a corner.

 

"You still haven't-"

 

"The Labyrinth, someone must've told you where to find it, Walker was drugged up and barely conscious," Batman muttered.

 

Gar paused in mid-air. "It was left on the table, the kitchen table. I thought you'd- You didn't?"

 

Batman turned on his afterburner, and turned another corner, stopping with a screech of his tires. They'd arrived. "I knew that if *you* knew where to find them, you'd kill them all. I should've known... The shoes… Dent was wearing different soles," he said, exiting the cockpit and climbing the stairs, turning his key in the lock, and entering the hallway. Gar landed on the porch after him, and scaled the stairs, out of breath, he speaks, clearly baffled. "So he got new shoes, so what?"

 

"You don't understand, Aickerman's apartment was littered with clues, littered! I think-! I think, perhaps, someone's been playing a long game. Someone needed Scarecrow dealt with, so they manufactured evidence. Someone wanted the Owls gone, so they left you a map," Bruce explained, putting his hand to his temples, switching over to his "Detective Vision," looking for any kind of clue. There.

 

"Who? Who could possibly need them out of the way?" Gar asks, still baffled.

 

"Alfred," Bruce murmured.

 

"I saw it as soon as you did, sir. The living room," Alfred replies on the other end.

 

"What the fuck are you two playing at?!" a voice bellows. Their arrival had woken up Gaige, who was now crawling down the stairs, harpoon in hand, screaming expletives. No time to explain, Batman thought as he rushed past him, aiming the gun out of harm's way, and speeding into the living room, just now getting to Gar's question.

 

"The only person smart enough, or arrogant enough to see it through," he says, as he tears the trophy cabinet off the wall, a single green trophy falling to the ground.

 

==Harvey Dent’s Campaign Office, Park Row==

 

Posters peeled off the wall, dust coated each and every desk. To an outsider, it may seem like no one had touched this building in years. But Bruce knew better. Beneath the south wall, an air current. And where there's air, there's normally a secret room. He summoned Lynns, and the two burst through the wall. A voice, proud and smug fills the room. *Clap. Clap. Clap* “So, you figured it out. Took longer than I expected."

The room was filled with servers, notepads lay strewn across the floor. On one wall stood a bookshelf, filled with trophies just like the ones at the manor. Above them, a single monitor, flickering on and off, it's image, a familiar green question mark. "Riddle me this," the voice calls out. "The eight of us go forth not back to protect our king from a foe's attack. What are we?"

 

Batman peers around the room, in search for the source of the noise. Nothing. He looks up at the monitor, and grimaces. "Pawns"

 

"Speak for yourself…" Gar replies, as suddenly, the monitor bursts into life, a green suited man sits down in front of it and laughs, clearly amused.

 

"And what wonderful pawns you make, it suits you, Dark Knight. So sorry I can't be there in person, but, and I'm sorry to put a shock to your ridiculous ego, I have hobbies outside you!" Riddler smiles, malice written behind his grin.

 

"Where are you?" Batman asks, unimpressed. It was one of Nygma's oldest tricks.

 

The monitor smirks. "Ah, where, Detective? Home! Grand old, foul smelling Gotham City! The specifics, however, may have slipped my mind. Have you any idea how long it's been since I could even step foot here? The Owls, oh those pesky Owls wanted my head, and they have been watching me for oh so many months! Watching all the- You know the rhyme, I'm sure. Absolutely exhausting. I couldn't possibly deal with them alone, even I have limits, and my associates wouldn't dare spark a war with the Demon's Head, not when *our* little Society is still in it's infancy. But here you are, reliable as ever! Doing the grunt work, Detective."

 

"So what, you're working with Bane is that it?" Gar asks.

 

Indignant rage appears on Nygma's face. "Bane? Bane! As if I'd lower myself to working for that brute. No, a man of my intellect needs a leader worthy of my attention. Someone wise, someone smart... I got the next best thing, haha! The thing is, Bane's a thug, but a powerful one. When we'd heard Scarecrow got involved, we had to improvise. Enter Thing One and Thing Two. That's you by the way. Oh, do put that flamethrower down, Lynns, the only thing you can hurt *here* is my limited respect for you."

 

Gar looks like he's about to reply, then stops himself.

 

"One way or another I'm shutting you down," Batman scowls, a defiant look plastered on his face.

 

"Oh detective... You can but try! And fail. Personally, I'm looking forward to it," Riddler smirks, as the monitor flashes off.

 

"Well he hasn't changed a bit," Gar mutters.

 

==Brown's Apartment==

 

Chuck left his harness at the door, stepping over a mountain of letters as he entered the hall. Some of them dated from months ago. He'd been too afraid to read them. He finishes watering his plants- they were looking ill, but they'll pull through, and heads into the kitchen. He'd need to buy more milk, he noted, checking the empty fridge. No matter, he thought cheerfully, pouring himself a cup of a green tea, sipping it as he got to work cleaning his helmet of it's soot. Perfect!

He wondered, what was on TV tonight? He turned to the food network and relaxed, sipping his tea. As images of delicious pastries and pies filled the screen, his eyes wandered back to the hall. Maybe, just maybe, he could give *him* a second chance, he thought, it wouldn't take long, the ads had just started. Cautiously, he picked up the pile of mail, and dropped it in the living room, still not convinced there wasn't a bomb in the packages within. He peels back the sellotape of the first, a cardboard box and braces himself for... A pumpkin. A rather old one at that, judging by the smell. Nauseous, but not lethal. He takes off the attached letter, and reads it. "Happy Halloween, Charlie," the card reads. No return address.

Onto the next, he removes the tape like before, and... A bone. An animal's, thankfully. Again, the card reads "Charlie, happy Thanksgiving."

The next package, a santa hat, the one after that a box of chocolates from his not-so secret admirer. But he knew where they all came from, he thought, now unwrapping a large Easter egg. No doubt, he'd be recieving flowers come Mother's Day. He checked his phone's voice messages. Yep, one for each holiday. He should've deleted them, but part of him didn't want to give up. Part of him had been afraid of losing him, his friend.

 

"Hello?" the voice on the other end asked. "Charlie?" it asked excitedly.

 

"It's Chuck. Don't call me again, and don't... stop sending me those things."

 

"I was just trying to-"

 

The call ended. Chuck sighed, feeling better now that he'd finally gotten around to it, looking at the momentary space between his contacts, Julian's number deleted from his phone.

 

==========

 

"That, didn't sound like love to me," Freeze mused, as Julian slid the phone back into his pocket.

 

"You misunderstand... When I was with the Misfits, they all had a particular sense of humour. Hurtful. Depreciative. Blake, Lynns and Chancer especially, but Drury would join in too when he felt like it. All except Charles. He was kind. Always. I simply wanted to pay him back in kind. For him to know, I cared like he did," Day lamented.

 

"With trinkets," Freeze murmured. "And incarceration."

 

"That, was different," Julian snapped back. "A lesson, one they haven't yet learned... I take it you have it?"

 

"The chemicals? Yes, all that I could recover. I trust that *this* makes us even."

 

"Yes," Julian sighed, looking out the window, the mechanical whirring of Freeze's suit becoming quieter and quieter as he exited. He could see the Asylum from here, and Van Cleer Manor, symbols of a different life. And, just one block away, binoculars in hand, he could see Charles Brown putting down his phone, returning to his TV screen for another round of Bake-Off. Ever kind, ever Fearless.

 

 

 

Done