Chapter Text
“Bruce.”
A familiar, comforting voice pulls him from the dark.
Bruce opens his eyes, trying to make sense of his surroundings.
He’s… in a room.
Soft morning light spills across the floor. Somewhere nearby, people are talking. A baby’s delighted squeal cuts through the quiet, full of laughter and life.
Bruce slowly sits up, drawn toward the sound. His gaze lands on a door left slightly open.
“Selena?” he asks under his breath, disbelief creeping into the word.
He rises unsteadily and walks toward it.
When he pushes the door open, he finds himself staring into a warm kitchen. Selena stands at the stove, moving a pan as she prepares breakfast. Behind her, a baby sits in a highchair, waving a toy and babbling happily, trying to grab her mother’s attention.
Bruce freezes.
“Helena…” he chokes out.
The baby doesn’t react. She keeps playing, unaware of him.
Selena finally turns, and when she sees him, she smiles.
“Bruce.”
Bruce rubs the side of his head, still dazed. “I… I had the strangest dream. I—”
Selena cuts him off.
“Wake up.”
He blinks. “What?”
“You need to wake up, Bruce.”
Bruce’s eyes snap open.
He stares up at the rocky ceiling above him.
Oh.
That dream again.
Across the room, a monitor crackles to life, its volume far too loud.
“Goooood night, Gotham!” an animated broadcaster declares cheerfully. “And now we begin the midnight broadcast!”
The voice keeps going, bright and energetic.
“Tonight’s headlines—another quiet evening across Gotham. Crime rates holding steady as the city sleeps—”
Bruce exhales slowly through his nose and pushes himself upright on the mat that barely passes for a bed.
Halfway up, his hand snaps to his bandaged rib cage. Pain flares, bad enough to make him pause. He presses against the wrappings, checking the damage.
The bleeding stopped.
That’s something.
He steadies himself and pushes the rest of the way to his feet, waiting a moment for the room to stop spinning. Once it does, he crosses the small space and drops into the chair in front of the workbench.
The Batsuit lies there in pieces.
Bruce begins inspecting it, running fingers along the armor plates, checking for cracks, loose seams, anything that could fail the next time he needs it. The news anchor’s voice drones on in the background, barely registering.
“On to other news. Rumors of sightings of the former billionaire vigilante Batman—also known as Bruce Wayne—have begun to reemerge.”
Bruce keeps working.
“Tonight marks the third reported sighting in the past two years since the anniversary of the night Gotham’s former hero was exposed as none other than billionaire Bruce Wayne.”
His hands pause for a moment over a torn section of the suit.
“Once celebrated as Gotham’s protector, Bruce Wayne’s fall from grace came after the alleged murder of the criminal known as the Joker. A warrant for his arrest was issued soon after, and the former billionaire vigilante has remained at large, disappearing shortly after his identity was exposed.”
He doesn’t bother looking at the screen.
Not like he cared what Gotham thought anymore.
“But even now, many continue to question these recent sightings,” the anchor goes on. “After all, Commissioner Loeb himself publicly confirmed the death of the Batman shortly after the incident at Wayne Manor.”
An old recording begins to play across the monitor.
A large crowd fills the steps of City Hall. Cameras flash as Commissioner Loeb stands behind a podium, addressing the public.
“As of 5:23 yesterday morning,” Loeb says into the microphones, “a raid was conducted on the Wayne estate—also known as Wayne Manor. Before officers could enter the property and bring Bruce Wayne into custody, an explosion occurred within the manor. Investigators believe the blast was caused by Wayne himself.”
The crowd in the video murmurs.
“We have reason to believe Wayne was still inside at the time of the explosion,” Loeb continues. “Witnesses confirmed he was already badly wounded before retreating deeper into the mansion.”
Loeb pauses, glancing down at the notes in his hand.
“So as of now… Bruce Wayne is presumed dead.”
The clip cuts abruptly.
Back in the present, Bruce quietly reconnects a damaged section of the suit’s plating.
“On to other news—”
Bruce shuts the monitor off before the anchor can finish.
He tosses the remote across the table without looking and returns his attention to the suit laid out in front of him.
Silence settles over the cave.
Only the distant drip of water echoes through the cave. From deeper in the cavern, the faint screech of bats cuts through the darkness before fading again.
Bruce keeps working.
After a while, the silence is broken by the crackle of a police scanner sputtering to life. Static fills the air as officers begin talking over one another.
“—got a 211S in progress. Reports say it could be Two-Face. Any units in the area?”
Bruce straightens, the call immediately pulling his attention away from the workbench.
Another voice cuts through the static.
“Closest unit’s thirty minutes out.”
Bruce rises at once and starts pulling on the suit.
Within minutes, the armor is locked into place. He secures the gauntlets, tightens the cape clasp, and finally reaches for the cowl.
The mask slides over his head.
The motorcycle roars to life. The engine’s growl echoes through the cavern as Batman swings onto the seat.
A moment later, the bike shoots up the tunnel and into the night, leaving the cave behind.
A bank lobby.
Marble floors cracked with bullet holes.
Two-Face stands at the center, revolver in one hand, coin flipping between his fingers.
“Luck’s a funny thing—”
The coin never lands.
Batman crashes through the skylight.
Glass explodes across the room as he drops into the center of the lobby. Two-Face fires once—twice—
Batman moves before the third shot.
A gauntleted hand knocks the gun aside.
A hard strike to the ribs.
Another to the jaw.
Two-Face hits the floor, the coin spinning uselessly beside him.
By the time the police arrive, the fight is long over. And Batman is long gone.
An alley.
Three thugs scatter as something drops from the rooftop.
The Penguin barely has time to shout—
“Shoot him—!”
Batman hits the ground between them.
One thug swings a pipe.
Batman catches the arm, twists, and slams him into the brick wall.
Another rushes forward.
A boot to the chest sends him crashing into a stack of crates.
Penguin backs away, umbrella trembling in his grip.
“Oh come on now—let’s be reasonable—”
Batman steps forward.
Penguin stops talking.
A rooftop overlooking the Narrows.
A manic laugh echoes through the wind.
The Riddler scrambles toward the edge, clutching a small device.
“You’re late, Batman! The answer was always obvious—”
Batman throws a batarang.
The device sparks and dies in Riddler’s hand.
He stares at it.
“…Oh.”
Batman grabs him before he can run.
A warehouse.
One of the goons crashes through a stack of broken crates and slams hard into a wall of steel shelving. The metal rattles loudly as he collapses to the ground, unmoving.
Two of the others rush over.
“Oh my God— is he dead?” one of them blurts out, kneeling beside him.
Another goon grabs his gun and fires wildly into the warehouse, squeezing the trigger again and again as he shoots at empty space.
None of them hit anything.
Batman appears out of nowhere.
One brutal kick catches the gunman across the head, dropping him instantly.
The last two goons freeze.
“Wait— wait— just give me a second!” the woman yells, her voice panicked.
With a desperate shout the man beside he charges straight at Batman.
Batman stands still.
At the last second, he moves.
A single uppercut.
The man’s feet leave the ground before he crashes back down, unconscious.
Now only the woman remains.
She screams and stumbles backward, throwing her hands up as if trying to keep him away.
Batman starts walking toward her.
She shakes her head frantically, hands trembling as she moves them through the air.
Then—
Purple sparks begin to gather in her palms.
Batman pauses.
Energy builds rapidly, crackling between her fingers until a glowing mass of violet light forms in her hands.
Her eyes widen.
“I didn’t mean—”
She thrusts her hands forward.
The explosion erupts.
Batman barely has time to brace before the blast slams into him. The force hurls him backward—
But he never hits the warehouse wall.
Everything around him begins to warp.
Light floods his vision, blinding and violent as the world stretches and tears apart around him. The warehouse vanishes in a storm of motion.
One second he’s inside the building—
The next—
Batman slams hard against brick.
Pain shoots through his back as he collapses to the ground.
He lifts his head slowly.
The warehouse is gone.
Now he’s lying in an alley.
Batman pulls himself up slowly, scanning his surroundings.
He doesn’t recognize it.
Seconds ago he was at the port.
Then that woman hit him.
Teleportation meta?
Maybe.
Hard to say.
Batman pulls out his grappler and fires it toward the rooftop above. The cable snaps tight and yanks him upward as his mind keeps working through the possibilities.
By the time he reaches the roof, he’s already moving.
He taps his gauntlet, trying to bring up the city map.
Nothing happens.
He taps it again.
Still nothing.
Batman frowns and checks his HUD.
Blank.
Great.
The blast must have shorted something in the suit.
Batman steps to the edge of the rooftop and looks out across the city.
The skyline stretches into the distance. Even without the tech, he has a rough idea where he is.
Or at least what part of the city this should be.
Finding the bike shouldn’t take long.
And once he does, he can get back to the cave and fix the suit.
Batman pulls the grappler out again and fires it toward the next rooftop in the direction he left the motorcycle.
The cable launches forward—
And he disappears into the night.
Where’s the bike?
Batman drops back down into the alley and looks around, expecting the familiar shape of the motorcycle to be waiting where he left it.
It isn’t.
He walks to the spot near the wall where he’d hidden it earlier, pushing aside the loose tarp draped over a pile of crates.
Nothing.
Batman scans the alley again, slower this time.
He’d left it here.
The thought that someone might have actually stolen it begins creeping into his mind.
That would be a great way to end an already terrible night.
Bruce lifts his arm and taps his gauntlet, trying to access the bike’s tracker.
The display flickers.
Then goes dark again.
He lowers his arm slightly, jaw tightening behind the cowl.
“Of course.”
Batman lets out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as a headache begins to build behind his eyes.
Before he can figure out what to do next—
An explosion rips through the night.
The ground trembles beneath his boots.
Batman’s head snaps up, scanning the skyline. A nearby building is already burning, flames licking up the side as smoke pours into the air.
Then he sees it.
Someone falling.
Tumbling from high above the burning building.
Batman moves instantly.
He fires his grappler and launches himself upward to the nearest rooftop. The moment his boots touch down, he doesn’t stop.
He throws himself off the edge.
Wind roars past him as he dives toward the falling figure. The distance closes fast.
At the last second—
Batman catches them.
The impact nearly tears the breath from his lungs, but his other hand already fires the grappler again. The cable shoots toward a nearby rooftop and locks tight.
The line jerks them sideways.
They swing through the smoke-filled air and slam onto the roof of the nearest building.
Batman twists mid-fall, taking most of the impact as they hit the rooftop and roll hard across the gravel before finally skidding to a stop.
When he finally pulled himself up, he realized he was holding a girl, and she was wearing a suit?
A new vigilante?
Batman’s eyes move over the suit of the person he caught.
Purple.
And across the chest—
A bat symbol.
His brow furrows.
Why is she wearing his symbol?
She groans as she comes to. Her eyes slowly focus on the figure standing over her.
Then she smirks.
“Aww… fancy seeing you here,” she chuckles weakly.
Batman raises an eyebrow as he lowers her carefully onto the rooftop, ignoring the rambling of someone only half-conscious.
“Thought you said you’d be gone for the week, B.”
B?
Before he can process it—
A thud lands behind him.
Batman turns instantly.
Another figure has dropped onto the roof.
Yellow armor.
And also, with a bat symbol across his chest.
The boy in yellow looks shocked to see him—but not for the reason Batman expected.
“B! You’re back!” the kid blurts out. “I—uh—we, yeah—we’ve got everything under control. Uh… is Spoiler okay?”
Spoiler?
Batman doesn’t answer.
He just stares at the vigilante.
The yellow-suited kid shifts awkwardly under the silence.
“Uh… you okay?” he asks cautiously. “You seem… upset?”
His eyes drift over Batman’s armor.
“…What’s with your suit? It looks… worn.”
The vigilante steps closer than Batman likes.
Batman doesn’t move.
“Hm,” the boy mutters, leaning in a little. “You look weird.”
He reaches out and pokes Batman’s cheek.
His hand never makes it.
Batman grabs his wrist.
Hard.
The vigilante yelps immediately.
“Hey—HEY—what the—?! Chill, B! What are you doing?! Let go!”
He tries to pull back.
Batman doesn’t release him.
His grip tightens, just short of breaking bone.
Boots suddenly land across the rooftop.
More figures.
“Let him go.”
Batman glances up.
A vigilante in a black and blue suit stands several feet away, posture tense.
Batman holds the stare for another second before finally releasing the boy’s wrist.
The kid jerks his arm back and stumbles, nearly falling before someone behind him catches him.
Another bat suit.
This one almost identical to Bruce’s own—
Except the mask covers the mouth as well.
Batman’s gaze shifts again.
Another vigilante stands a few feet away—this one dressed in black and red, a staff already gripped in his hands. Like the others, he looks more confused than hostile.
“Uh… what are you doing, Batman?” he asks cautiously.
Batman doesn’t answer.
Instead, his eyes drift back to the yellow-suited vigilante, who’s still rubbing his wrist where Batman grabbed him.
The vigilante winces.
“Okay—seriously,” he mutters, flexing his fingers. “What was that for?”
He looks back up at Batman, concern creeping into his voice.
“…B?”
“…B?”
Duke’s voice carried a note of confusion.
Before anyone could react—
Batman moved.
A small object hit the ground between them.
Smoke exploded outward, swallowing the rooftop in thick gray clouds.
“Hey—!” Stephanie shouted.
By the time the smoke began to clear, Batman was gone.
“What the—what the hell?!” Tim snapped, spinning in place as he looked across the rooftop.
There was no trace of him.
“Is this a Code Red?” Duke asked, still rubbing his wrist. “What the hell just happened? Why did he look like he was about to attack us?”
Tim turned toward Nightwing, clearly expecting an explanation.
None came.
Nightwing stood still, staring at the empty rooftop where Batman had been only seconds ago.
“Nightwing,” Cass spoke.
Dick blinked, as if pulling himself out of his own thoughts.
Then his expression hardened.
“Call the others,” he said.
A short pause.
“Code Red.”