#gothamnights

Chapter 9

10. Trapping Batman

Location: Gotham rooftops, in motion. Time: 00:06 Weather: Well, it’s Gotham. We all know what the weather’s like.

Bruce and Dick run through the city, leaping between rooftops in the rain while chasing a group of tech-savvy criminals. Every punch, every maneuver, is synchronized—but Dick has a plan of his own and activates it at the least expected moment: mid-jump between skyscrapers.

Dick: Hey, B, can we talk for a second?

Bruce: Not in the middle of a mission, Dick.

It isn’t the first time Dick tries this kind of plan. Bruce isn’t surprised.

Dick: Yes, we can. They’re not that good.

Bruce frowns just before flipping to land and keep running.

Dick: It’s about Clark.

Bruce dodges an electric shot and replies in a low voice:

Bruce: What about Clark?

Dick: Well… that. There’s something. Alone time, silences that don’t bother you—they jump and land on the criminals, the fighting begins, but Dick finds gaps to make their eyes meet and keep talking—the full package, you know.

Bruce clenches his jaw and throws a punch less firm than he should. It doesn’t matter; it is still brutal, but the thief doesn’t go unconscious—just down.

His whole being screams to deny everything.

Whatever ties his tongue is stronger than all his willpower.

It is frustrating. So frustrating that anger twists and tightens his throat.

His hoarse voice hides it.

Bruce: I don’t want to talk about it.

Dick: Oh, come on, B. Why not? It’s obvious. Say it and it’ll be easier. I’ll help you focus it.

The knot in his throat tightens. He doesn’t understand why Dick is being so… cruel. Dick is never cruel.

Bruce can’t understand that Dick isn’t making a big deal out of something so… terrible.

He decides to shorten it and say it aloud. Sometimes with Dick, it is better this way: give him what he wants, satisfy him, and move on.

Bruce still doesn’t understand, but he knows that if he had done it when he left being Robin, they would have spent less time apart.

So he gives in, even though saying it aloud is far more painful than the electric shock that tenses every muscle from a thug.

Bruce: It’s… not right.

Another thief reaches him, this time with a direct punch to the jaw. Not ideal, but it feels better than the heart he has just ripped from his chest by saying that.

It isn’t right to feel anything for Clark, his friend. It is… a disgusting betrayal of their friendship.

Dick: What?

Bruce even turns toward him, letting another shock hit him because the boy sounds so bewildered that he thinks he has been attacked from behind.

Angry, Bruce approaches the heavy electroshock thug and rips the gun from his hands. He tries to dent it with his fingers, but it is tough, and he feels a bit off after confessing.

Dick: Right? B, what the hell are you saying?

Frustrated with reality, the conversation, and the unbreakable device, Batman pulls three chain gadgets from his belt, throws them, activates them, and suddenly all three criminals are stuck together, tied up.

Bruce: That’s it. Call Gordon.

Without looking at Dick, he begins walking toward the roof’s edge.

Dick’s steps pound behind him, slipping on the rain to intercept him just as he readies the grapnel.

Dick: Hey, hey, hey… No. No. What do you mean, B? Right?

Bruce truly doesn’t understand what Dick wants. He is his boy. He can’t want him to hurt. And he is upset.

And worried.

And Bruce can’t lie to him and say everything is fine.

Bruce: I’m sorry.

Dick: For what?!

The criminals are behind, far away and in the rain. If he whispers… maybe Dick won’t hear and will let him go…

He licks his lips and finds a hold above Dick’s arm. If the boy lowers it a bit, he can leave as soon as he speaks.

Bruce: I’m sorry… for betraying our friendship and…

Dick: B!

Bruce: …wanting him in the wrong way.

The shock—or terror, because those wide eyes of Dick look terrified—makes Dick’s arms drop, giving Bruce the space to launch the grapnel and let himself be pulled away.

As he races through the void, rain soaking him, he wants to think it washes him clean—but he knows it doesn’t, because the stain remains inside.

To be Continued...

It starts during a storm. Which, in Gotham, means something supernatural is about to happen.

Lightning. Static. The Cave’s power flickers. And then—the sensors start screaming.

An energy signature. Not human. Not meta. Not even from this plane.

Bruce is halfway to the console when something phases through the wall. White hair. Green eyes. Blue glow like moonlight on a grave.

And then— it kneels.

“I found you,” the ghost says softly. “You’re alive. Finally.”

Bruce stiffens. “Identify yourself.”

The entity smiles. Too human. Too broken.

“Danny,” it says. “Danny Fenton. Or— I used to be.”

Tim’s scanning the energy readings. “Bruce… his ectosignature matches yours. Almost exactly.”

Jason: “Okay, that’s not creepy at all.” Damian: “Father, is this another one of your illegitimate experiments?” Bruce: “No. This isn’t—” Danny: “You wouldn’t remember. You were… erased.”

The words hang heavy in the frost.

“You died once,” Danny whispers. “And they brought you back. Not the same. Not all of you.”

“I came for the part that was lost.”

The Batcomputer starts glitching. Names, dates, images of Lazarus Pits flashing across the screens.

Danny reaches out a hand. “Let me make you whole, Bruce. Before they come for what’s left.”

Static fills the cave. Somewhere above, something screams.

The lights die. And when they flicker back on—Danny isn’t alone anymore.

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