#ioyk

You had always hated the feeling of being strung along. 

It made you feel stupid. As if you were some gullible girl who couldn’t tell the difference between love and the idea of it. Like a fish caught on some invisible line, reeled in just far enough to think you were safe, only to be cut free when it suited him.

Sukuna had that talent. The talent of making you believe in a future he never planned to share. He could be so warm when he wanted to be. So convincing in those rare moments when he let you close enough to think he cared about anything beyond himself.

But in the end, he didn’t even bother cutting the line. He just stood there, watching you thrash around, like he couldn’t be bothered to pretend anymore.

You spent almost four years waiting for those moments to add up to something permanent. Four years with him, believing you were building something real. Four years of half-promises and deferred plans, of telling yourself that he was just afraid of commitment, that if you were patient enough, he’d eventually realize you were worth it.

But you were tired of patience. Tired of watching friends get engaged, get pregnant, buy houses, while you sat on the sidelines, convincing yourself you were content with scraps.

You thought it was a reasonable thing to ask. To want clarity. A plan. A little reassurance that you weren’t wasting your life on someone who didn’t see you in their future.

The night it all ended, hadn’t started out any different from the hundreds before it.

You’d cooked dinner, something simple, just pasta and a bottle of cheap red wine. You’d been rehearsing the words in your head over and over all day, feeling them swell and contract inside your chest like a bruise. You thought he’d look at you and see what you meant to him. That’d he remember every late night and early morning spent together, every argument you’d ever survived, every quiet hour when you thought: This must be what forever feels like.

When you finally asked him outright—“Where is this going?”—he didn’t even look up from his phone.

You remembered the feeling of your heart sinking, just a little. Like you already knew what was coming, but you just had to hear it anyway.

He set his phone aside eventually, looking you right in the eye and exhaling as if you were asking him something ridiculous.

"You’re doing this now?" he’d said.

That was how it spiraled from there.

You pressed, because you needed to. Because you were tired of pretending it didn’t bother you.

You told him you wanted to get married someday. You told him you wanted a family. You told him you were ready to start thinking about that—really thinking about it. "I just…need to know where we’re heading. I don’t want to wake up in a few years and realize I wasted my time.”

Sukuna listened, the way he always did when he was deciding whether or not to pick a fight. His mouth curved into that small, disdainful smile.

“You knew I didn’t want any of that,” he’d said simply, even though you didn’t. No apology. No hesitation. Just the truth, blunt as a dull blade. He said it like it was obvious, like it was your fault for hoping he’d change his mind one day.

You tried to reason with him. Tried to explain that people grew, that sometimes priorities shifted.

It turned into an argument you couldn’t steer back to calm.

You’d never really yelled at each other before. But that night, you did. Voices echoed off the walls of your shared apartment, accusations and resentment you hadn’t even realized you’d been carrying. 

You asked him why he’d never told you he didn’t want kids.

He asked you why you couldn’t just be happy with what you already had.

Your voice went hoarse from just trying to make him understand. His eyes remained flat and unimpressed. He told you he wouldn’t be “trapped” into a life he never signed up for.

You cried—a lot—and he got quiet. And in that silence, sitting on opposite ends of the couch with your cheeks still damp, you realized he was never going to change. That there was nothing left of your relationship to salvage.

You didn’t sleep that night. Just layed awake on the couch, feeling the shape of all your wasted years pressing down on you like a weight you’d never be able to lift. You remembered the way your heart felt quiet, too. How all that hope shriveled into something dry and small.

That was it. 

No second chances. No compromise.

In the morning, you packed up half of the apartment in cardboard boxes. You didn’t wait for him to come home. Didn’t look back.

Maybe it was cowardly, but you couldn’t stand the thought of hearing him tell you again that he didn’t want you in the ways that mattered most.

It should have felt like freedom. But mostly, it felt like failure.

But through it all, every hour you spent crying on the kitchen floor, every time you almost called Sukuna just to hear him say anything, Suguru was there.

He was the first person you called.

He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t act surprised.

He just said, “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

And he was.

He was the one who loaded your boxes into the back of his beat-up car. Who held your hand in the leasing office when you signed the paperwork for your shitty little apartment with the creaky floorboards and the view of the laundromat. Who carried your cheap furniture up three flights of stairs without complaint. Who sat on the warped tile floor beside you with takeout containers and a pint of mint-chip ice cream you didn’t even touch.

He didn’t offer platitudes or try to tell you that it would be okay. He didn’t say Sukuna didn’t deserve you, though you knew he believed it.

He was just there. He’d open his arms, and you folded yourself against his chest like you’d done a thousand times before.

Steady and patient in a way that made you feel whole again.

And when the worst of it passed, when you could finally breathe without wanting to break, he stayed.

Suguru had always been like that. Being exactly what you needed, even when you didn’t know how to ask. The constant you never quite let yourself depend on too much.

The constant you never quite let yourself depend on too much.

Maybe because you knew, deep down, that whatever tether held you together was stronger than either of you wanted to admit. That no matter who you loved, no matter how it ended, it was always Suguru who put you back together.

It took you three months to come to the decision.

Three months of living alone for the first time in years. Of lying awake at night, wondering if you’d made a huge mistake.

Three months of realizing you didn’t have to keep waiting for someone else to want the same things you did.

You wanted to be a mother. You’d wanted it for as long as you could remember, but you’d let yourself believe it was only possible if you had someone beside you.

But you were done waiting.

It wasn’t decided on a whim. It wasn’t desperation or some reckless act of defiance. It was a certainty that settled into your bones like something you’d known all along.

It was the way you felt every time you visited Suguru and his nieces. The way Mimiko would crawl into your lap with her stuffed rabbit and ask you to read her the same picture book over and over. The way Nanako would slip her hand into yours when you crossed the parking lot.

It was watching Suguru tie their shoes, patiently brushing their hair out of their faces, smiling at them like they were the best thing that had ever happened to him.

It was the hollow place inside you that never quite healed after Sukuna. The part that still believed you had something good to give, if only you were brave enough to try.

So you started researching. Clinics. Procedures. The cost of donor samples. You read everything you could get your hands on.

By the time you made your decision, it didn’t feel impulsive at all. It felt inevitable.

Which was why you found yourself here, walking through the front gates of the zoo on a mild Saturday morning, feeling your heart stutter as Suguru waved to you from the ticket counter, Nanako perched on his hip, and Mimiko tugging at his sleeve.

He smiled when he saw you, an easy, quiet thing that made your heart flutter.

“Hey,” he called. “You made it.”

You nodded, hoping you looked steadier than you felt.

You hadn’t planned on telling him today.

But something about the warm afternoon and the girls running ahead of you to look at the sea lions made you feel like it was safe to want things again.

You glanced at Suguru, with his hair tied back, sunglasses hiding the way his eyes always softened when he looked at you, and felt the words gathering in your throat.

You didn’t know exactly what you were going to say.

Only that if there was anyone in the world you could trust with your truth, it was him.

You hardly looked at the animals.

It wasn’t that you didn’t care about the sleepy red pandas or the sun-bathing crocodiles. It was that you were too aware of Suguru beside you. The way he kept glancing over to make sure you were keeping up, the warm brush of his hand at your back whenever the crowd thickened.

Nanako had claimed his right hand, small fingers wrapped tightly around his index finger. Mimiko clung to your side, tugging you toward every enclosure with a breathless “Look, Auntie!”

The first time she called you that, you’d nearly melted on the spot.

Suguru didn’t bat an eye. He just smiled, the same quiet, fond expression he always wore around them. You wondered if he even realized how natural he looked with a child tucked against his side. How easily the girls trusted him, how effortlessly he seemed to fit into the role.

Sometimes, it was easy to pretend. To imagine that this was something you might have had if your life had turned out differently if you’d chosen other people. Other paths.

“Stay where I can see you,” Suguru called when the girls bolted ahead to press their faces against the glass of the penguin enclosure.

“Yes, Uncle Sugu!” Nanako sing-songed, already ignoring him and halfway gone.

You bit back a laugh as you stepped up beside him. He looked so much like a tired young dad.

“You’re very patient,” you murmured.

“They’re good kids,” he replied, and there was that softness again, always so effortless with him. “Even when they pretend they’re not listening.”

Mimiko turned around to wave you over. You followed, letting the girls tug you from one habitat to the next—peering at otters floating on their backs, watching a tiger pace behind tall glass, admiring the giraffes that blinked sleepily in the sun. Suguru kept pace just behind, hands in his pockets, expression content in that unassuming way of his.

And you loved it. You loved the simplicity of feeling like you belonged to something—this tiny makeshift family under the warm sky.

But there was always that small, hollow place inside you. The one that whispered you were just a visitor in their little world. An honorary member, destined to leave eventually.

Suguru noticed everything, though. He always did.

“You okay?” he asked at one point, when you fell quiet watching him kneel to retie Nanako’s sneaker.

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Just…thinking.”

He didn’t push. He knew you too well for that.

By the time you’d made it halfway through the zoo, the girls were flagging. Suguru, always prepared, pulled juice boxes and crackers out of his backpack. He tied Mimiko’s hair into a crooked ponytail when she got too warm, handed Nanako his water bottle, checked the label to be sure it was still cold.

You caught yourself watching him, trying to imagine him like this every day—gentle, dependable, impossibly good.

When he looked up and caught you staring, something unspoken flickered across his face. But he only gave a tired, quiet smile and turned back as Nanako clambered onto his lap.

Mimiko leaned against your side, nibbling on the crackers. You reached over to smooth her hair behind her ear, feeling your heart twist when she turned to face into your palm, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

For a second, you imagined doing this with your own child. Sitting on a bench on a warm Saturday morning, nowhere else you needed to be.

The thought lodged itself behind your ribs, stubborn and aching.

You tried to swallow it down, but it stayed there all through the last exhibits.

You didn’t know why you couldn’t just tell him then and there. You’d spent weeks rehearsing what you wanted to say. But every time you opened your mouth, the words died on your tongue.

So you waited.

It wasn’t until later, when you reached the small gift shop near the entrance, that you finally ran out of excuses.

Suguru handed each of the girls a crumpled bill. “Pick something you want,” he told them. “But just one thing each.”

They scampered off, giggling, Mimiko immediately grabbing a stuffed otter off the shelf.

“Don’t pick the same thing as last time,” he called after them, though his voice was more amused than stern.

You trailed along behind them, weaving through bright displays of plastic toys and overpriced t-shirts. 

Your stomach had been twisting itself into knots since the flamingo pond, but you kept telling yourself: Just wait. Just wait for the right moment.

But standing there, you couldn’t pretend any longer.

Near the back wall, a small corner was arranged with baby onesies—soft cotton printed with cartoon giraffes and tiny elephants. A row of plush rattles lined the lowest shelf, pastel price tags swaying gently in the air conditioning.

You didn’t mean to stop. But your feet carried you there anyway.

Suguru came up beside you, following your gaze. For the first time all day, his calm seemed to slip.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice lower than before. He shifted a little closer, like he wasn’t sure if he should touch you. “You sure you’re okay?”

No. You weren’t.

Your heart was battering against your ribs. Your throat felt too small to hold all the things you’d been trying to keep down.

And before you could think better of it, before you could tuck the truth back behind your teeth, you heard yourself blurt it out—

“I’m going to have a baby.”

The words hovered between you, enormous and absurd.

You turned to him fully, bracing for—what? Shock? Pity?

He just stared at you, like he was trying to make sense of what you’d said. His mouth opened. Closed. His brow knitted,  a fine line appearing between his eyebrows. 

You could practically feel his thoughts tumbling over each other, searching for the right response and coming up empty.

“You’re…” His throat worked. “You’re pregnant?”

Fuck. You almost wished you could take it back.

The question sounded strangled, the shape of it barely formed.

You shook your head quickly, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks. “No! Not yet. I—God, I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner. I’ve been thinking about this for months now.”

He still hadn’t moved. You wished he would. Anything would have been better than just standing there, watching the disbelief giving way to worry, the worry shading into something more fragile you didn’t dare name.

“Is it—” He exhaled carefully, as if he had to push the words out. “It’s not his, is it?”

It took you a second to understand who he meant. 

Sukuna. 

You almost laughed at how much you wanted to be insulted by the assumption, even though it was fair. Because of course he’d think that. Of course he’d be trying to do the math in his head, to piece together timelines you didn’t even want to remember.

“No,” you said, sharper than you intended. “It has nothing to do with him.”

You looked down, fingertips brushing over the folded edge of a onesie. Maybe if you didn’t meet his eyes, this would feel less like a confession.

“I’ve been…researching clinics. Donor programs,” you went on quietly. “I don’t want to wait anymore. I want to be a mom. And I’m done waiting around for someone else to want the same things I do. I can just…do this on my own.”

He was quiet for a long time. When you finally dared to look up again, his expression was hard to read, studying you like he could see every secret you’d never told him.

When he finally spoke, his voice was rough. “You’ve really thought this through.”

You nodded. Your palms felt damp. You had the ridiculous urge to keep explaining—to fill the silence before it swallowed you both.

“I know it’s a huge responsibility. I know it might be stupid, or selfish. But I’m ready. I’ve been working extra shifts. Saving up. I don’t want to spend another year waiting around for—”

You stopped yourself before you said someone to love me the way you do.

“I just thought you should know. You’re…important to me. And this is important to me.”

His gaze flicked to the baby section again. He swallowed, and for a second, you thought there was something else he wanted to say. Something that would crack everything wide open if he left it.

Please don’t do this. Please don’t shut me out.

But all he did was let out a slow exhale.

“And…you’re sure this is what you want?” he asked quietly.

“I’m sure.”

Something in his shoulders sagged, as if he’d been holding his breath and finally let it go. 

“Okay…I’m glad you told me,” he said after a moment, though his voice was a little unsteady.

“You don’t have to pretend to be okay with it.”

He hesitated. His jaw tightened, biting down on something that might splinter if he let it out.

“I mean it,” he insisted. “If this is what you want…then I’m happy for you.”

It wasn’t exactly true. You could see it in the way his hand hovered near yours before he curled it into a fist. In the way his eyes kept searching your face like he might find some small reason to change your mind.

But he meant it as much as he could.

And you loved him for trying.

Nanako’s voice broke through the quiet from across the store, bright and oblivious: 

“Uncle Sugu! Can I get the tiger instead?”

He blinked, almost as if he’d forgotten where he was.

“Yeah, kiddo,” he called back. “I’ll be right there.”

Then he looked at you again. Really looked. And for one unbearable heartbeat, you thought he was going to reach for you. To gather you up the way he had when your whole world fell apart.

But he didn’t.

“If you need anything,” he murmured, softer than before, “anything at all…you’ll tell me.”

You couldn’t find it in yourself to answer. You just nodded.

Then he turned away to help Nanako, and you were left standing there alone, staring at the rows of tiny clothes, wondering why the confession felt so much like a loss.

Chapter Index | Two

As Dick turns his back, you, Babs, and Tim look at each other and trade glances with furrowed brows and wide eyes. You silently urge Tim to say something to Dick, but he shakes his head no. Suddenly, a heavy thud from Dick’s fire escape interrupts everything. Dick slowly rises from his hunched position at the bookcase, muscles taught and eyes steady. The three of you freeze before quickly shifting your gazes to the window. As the three of you face the window, a red gleam peers back through the frosted glass.

“Shit.” Dick groans lowly.

Your breath stalls as Dicks reaction confirms who’s out there. Tim and Barbara remain unreadable, something you’re hoping to mirror back. Unfortunately, you know your face has already soured.

The window lifts, and frigid air rushes in, causing your skin to pebble. Jason enters the apartment, and it instantly loses its physical warmth, appearing duller as reality is shoved back onto you. The smell of the cold pizza grows nauseating, the low music drums in your ears, and your body is restless in the once comfortable chair.

Jason curses himself for removing the helmet before stepping inside as eight pairs of unblinking eyes stare back. He tries to keep his face neutral, but can feel it twitching as he observes the scene in front of him. His eyes scan from Dick to the pizza boxes, the games splayed out, they land on you, before moving to Barbara, and then, they land heavy on the man next to you at the table.

Must be my replacement. Looks breakable. He thinks.

Tim grows wary as Jason’s eyes stay locked on him. Tim’s sure that Jason’s about to lunge, but Dick clears his throat, and Jason eventually looks away. Tim forces out the shaky breath he had been holding.

“What’s up, Jay?” Dick questions when Jason looks at him. Jason almost doesn't flinch at the nickname.

Jason, with everyone’s attention on him, feels foolish. He feels silly for thinking something had happened to Dick. He feels even more ridiculous for coming to check on him.

“Had a situation, figured you’d want in on it. I didn’t realize you were, uh, in the middle of something.”

“Still need help? We can-”

“No.” It comes out harsher than he means, “It’s-it’s been taking care of.”

“Oh, great! Then you can join us!” Dick’s ecstatic at the idea. Jason shoots a look at the other three people. Barbara shows no objection, but he can see from your and Tim’s faces that the idea causes discomfort.

“I’ll just leave. Let you guys get back to it.”

Barbara pushes her wheelchair towards him, “Jason, it’s fine, really. We’d like it if you stayed.”

Again, he looks at you, gauging your reaction. Maybe, even hoping you’d agree about him staying. But instead, you’re standing up from the table and moving to collect your things. Everyone looks to you now. Dick says your name. You ignore it at first, but he repeats it. Finally, you stop to look at him.

“I’ve got other shit to do than to sit here and beg Jason to stay.” You pull your shoes on harshly.

“Stay, don’t stay,” you shrug, “it makes no difference to me.” You walk to the coat rack and pull on your winter coat. “Tim?” You call as you zip. “Are you coming?”

“Don’t leave. I’ll leave.” Jason tries to fix the situation. Let me fix this. He internally begs.

You don’t spare even a glance at him; instead, you look at Tim. “You coming?”

Tim gets up from the table, hurrying to put on his shoes and jacket. He joins you by the door, calls out a quick “See you guys later.” And then you’re both gone.

Why the hell is he leaving with her? Who does he think he is? There are too many angry, hurtful thoughts, and they all hit too fast. Jason’s head starts to pound.

Dick makes a tssing sound, “Well, that escalated quickly.”

Jason just stares at Dick. “A warning about the ambush would have been nice.”

Dick’s hands shoot up, “How was I supposed to know you would come by here?”

“You weren’t answering my calls! I thought something had happened.”

“Aww, Jay, you care about me.” Dick moves to hug Jason. Jason pushes Dicks arms away as he steps away.

“Next time I’m not checking on you.” He grumbles and leaves the same way he came in.

“We shouldn’t have pushed them. Nobody's ready for the reunion just yet.” Barbara sighs, her shoulders sagging in sadness. Dick, always the optimist, smiles at her, “Don’t fret, Babs. Very soon, everyone will be.”

Tim counts to exactly five minutes, then brings up the shit show that just happened. “So, that was Jason?” Tim watches the white cloud swirl around you as you push air out of your nose and hum in agreement.

Stepping into Gotham’s 24/7 Diner, you take one of the booths at the back. Both of you order coffee, and then Tim starts in with the questioning.

“I’m surprised you haven’t looked into the file Bruce has on him.”

“Oh, I have. It’s missing things, plus it’s better to hear it with emotion, not just case facts.”

He continues questioning, “So where are you two at now?”

“There is no ‘you two’. It’s just Jason and just me. He wants nothing to do with me, and he’s made it painstakingly obvious.”

“What do you want?” His question is simple and something you have thought about many times, but you’ve never said the answer out loud. Tim watches as you slouch and sees your knuckles turn white from how hard you wring your hands. You gnaw at the flesh of the inside of your mouth before speaking.

“I know things can’t go back to how they were. We’re way past that at this point. But I still want Jason in my life, and he doesn’t. He’s pushing me away, and I’m afraid I’ll be the reason he never comes back.” Pausing, you sip the coffee, “So if that means loving him from afar and staying mad at him, then so be it. If Dick and Barbara get their brother back and Jason feels comfortable with them, then that's what matters.”

“It could be me.” Tim offers the words up with a frown. “Dick told me that Jason sees me as a replacement.”

You shrug, “Maybe, I guess we’ll see.”

A convoy of police cars whirls by the diner. The patrons turn to look as the sirens and lights go by, before shrugging and going back to eating. Tim places cash on the table, and you both leave in haste. Ducking into the alley beside the restaurant, both of you in a rush to get out of your civilian clothes.

Emergency vehicles have already blocked the area, and more are approaching as you and Robin hover on the outskirts. People rush out of the bank, panic clear on their faces. In a split second, the bank’s front glass wall shatters outward, and a wave of bullets flies out into the sky and across the crowd.

You see the name of the bank, and as it registers to you, the black book from the other night comes back to mind. For a moment, the name of the bank scribbled in red ink flashes in your mind along with the name Jessie Shomaker.

“It’s Penguin. He’s the one behind this.”

Tim nods, “We need to get in there now.”

It takes no time for the two of you to clear out the floors. Once on the top floor, a rumble shakes the building. “Let's hurry up!”

“I agree.” You huff out as you kick the back of the legs of the man in front of you. Tim lets the guy tumble before pulling his arms back using the bostaff, making the man embolized.

“What’s the plan here? Why is Penguin doing this?”

“Can’t say why. Just know, there’s more coming. And yous ain’t gonna stop any of it.”

Tim pulls up on the staff, intensifying the man's pain. You step closer, crouching to face level. You ask again, and receive the same answer.

“Fine, be that way.” You knock the man unconscious.

Standing by the double doors in front of you, Tim looks towards you, and once you nod back, he kicks the doors open. There are papers strewn about, shards of glass, and a blood splatter on the computer screens. In the corner, five people dressed in business attire huddle together. All of them are shaking and crying. One cries for help when they see you and Tim. As the two of you discuss a plan for getting them out, one of them speaks up.

“They, they took Jessie. He’s the only one of us who has clearance for the master vault.” With a trembling, bloody arm, she points towards the elevator on the other side of the room.

“Robin, you get them out of here. I’ll go after Jessie.”

“Alright, everyone, single file line. Let's go.”

Sharing one last look and a nod, you go your separate ways.

Despite the smooth jazz playing through the elevator, the adrenaline in your veins remains ignited. In an attempt to focus your mind and keep your hands active, you check your weapons during the ride. Soon enough, a cheerful chime announces your arrival at the bottom level, cueing you to prepare yourself for the scene as the doors slide open.

The room reflects the same eerie calm as the elevator. Nothing in the hallway is out of place, no blood splatter, no vases knocked over, and the only sign of activity is the muddy boot prints trailing to the metal door at the end of the corridor. Before going further, you radio Tim.

“How’s the hostage situation?”

“All clear here. What’s your progress?” You hear faint police sirens and slight chatter as he speaks.

“Found the vault and advancing on it. Unsure about the condition of the inside.”

“I’m headed to your location now.” His voice comes out tight, letting you know he’s rushing to get to you.

“Heard.”

You cast your gaze around the hallway, hoping for a vent to the vault, yet the sole entrance and exit to the vault is a boring white door directly ahead. Without a sound, your hand swiftly closes around the handle. As you twist, a hulking man, easily twice your size, bursts open the door. He takes up your whole view. Clenched in one fist is a metal bar; the other grips a length of rope. His knuckles are bone-white, muscles cording as he swings the bar with lethal force. The bar misses your face by a mere inch; you feel the air disperse around you. You recoil quickly, lunging backwards as he steadies himself for the next attack.

As he raises his arms, you duck and drive hard into his ribs. He grunts, stumbling back, but recovers fast. He swings the bar at your legs, it catches your ankle, and you go down hard. Behind you, the vase on the table rattles from the force. The air leaves your lungs, but you have no time to catch it before he’s swinging the bar down toward your skull. You roll from your spot and push up on your elbows, and as metal crashes down where your head was a heartbeat before. You slam your foot against his knee, and he staggers, allowing you to get back on your feet.

You feint left, then dart right, closing the gap before he can react. You grab his outstretched arm, slip your shoulder under his bicep, and wrench his forearm. His elbow locks up, but before it snaps, his monster-sized fist slams into your ribs, then shoves you away. You grab the vase off the table, spin back, and with all your strength, slam it down into his skull. He doubles over, the bar falling from his hand, as he instinctively checks for blood. Snatching the bar off the floor, you use it against him. He slumps down as a soft ding echoes through the hall. Glancing toward the elevator, you brace for anything.

The doors slide open, and in the elevator's bright white chamber, Tim stands. The red of the Robin suit stands stark against the elevator's bright white.

“Took you fucking long enough.” You growl.

He jogs to you. “Sorry, I got held up.” Glancing down at the guy, he continues. “Doesn’t look like you needed my help.”

“You get to tie him up.” You toss the rope, the coil slaps against his chest as you step over the crumpled, unconscious man at your feet. The scent of sweat and adrenaline hangs in the air, your heart still pounding from the fight.

The vault room is both impressive and unmoving to you. Walls of silver slits with locks and a never-ending corridor, it’s just what you pictured. Standing at the end of the long hall is a lanky man, alongside a stumpy, overdressed cloud of smoke. Neither aware of you and Robin as they peer greedily at the vault's closed door.

Faintly, you hear the words being shared by the two men.

“The best thing for you to do is to hurry up and get me in that fucking vault.”

“I’m trying, Mr. Cobblepots. It, uh, it seems as if they’ve changed how to gain access to it.”

“Figure out a way in there and fast. For both of our sakes.”

As you and Tim draw closer, the looming metal door begins emitting clicks and hisses as it opens. Penguin and Jessie dart through the narrow opening of the door, too eager to wait for it to open fully.

Tim slips a disruptor gun from his belt, and within seconds, he’s hacked into the bank’s security system. Then with a few taps, a shrill alarm erupts, red lights strobe overhead, and thick, choking smoke pours from vents along the ceiling, swallowing the vault in chaos.

You hear Penguin snarl, "What the hell’s going on?!" over the high-pitched alarm.

“I’m not sure, Mr. Cobblepot’s. We-we must have somehow triggered the alarm system-”

“Well then fucking turn it off!”

Jessie emerges from the thick smoke, and you lunge for him before he can make any noise. A firm hand pressed to his mouth before you’re twisting him around and putting him in a headlock. Tim lunges at Cobblepot, but in the swirling haze, Cobblepot twists free from Tim’s grip and barrels deeper into the vault. Machinery groans as the internal mechanisms start a lockdown sequence, metal bolts snapping into place.

“What’s his plan?” You jerk Jessie's head.

“The back wall, it ’s-it’s got a weak point. If it gets hit with something big, it’ll crack open. He’s got someone or something to break it.”

“Robin.”

“I’m on it.”

You don’t have to say any more as Tim begins working to stop the vault's security protocol.​

Through the thinning smoke, a hulking silhouette emerges: Cobblepot’s hired muscle. Tim darts forward, hurling a flash grenade that detonates at the brute’s feet. You drag Jessie behind a pillar for cover. For a heartbeat, the room is all white light and ringing ears.

Jessie whines as he’s slammed into the pillar, and shrinks further into himself as you bark, “Don’t move.”

You dart after Oswald, following him to the back of the vault. His laugh feels like nails on a chalkboard as it bounces off the walls.

“You’re too late, birdie. I’ve already gotten what I wanted.”

The wall in front of Oswald rattles as something slams against it. A crack begins spiderwebbing out, and as the slamming continues, dust falls from the ceiling.

“Thanks to the Knight, I got myself some new equipment. A state of the art replicate of his tunneling machine. Ain’t she a beaut!”

Lights from the ceiling crash all around you as the drilling machine destroys the outer wall and finally penetrates into the vault. As the wall and floor are torn to shreds, the horrible mechanical whirling of the machine fills your ears. The noise is so loud, it physically pains you.

Oswald shields his eyes from the blinding sparks and the rain of debris. A shower of concrete dust engulfs the room, and multiple masked men drop from the machine’s side hatch and sprint towards the safety boxes.

You vaulted over a toppled safety deposit box, landing a kick to a thug's chest. You ducked under a wild punch, sweeping another’s legs out from beneath him. Robin’s staff spun in a blur, cracking down on a third masked man’s arm and sending his weapon skittering across the marble floor.

The two of you moved in perfect unison, your steps mirroring each other as you approached the gaping cavity in the vault’s wall. Once at the hole, the mob formed a circle around you two. Keeping your backs together, the flock of men began dropping as you two fought.

The distinct, lone sound of a gunshot abruptly interrupted the cacophony. An abrupt silence fell as every person turned, intent on locating the source of the gunshot. Red Hood, a hulking silhouette, stood guard in the vault’s entrance, wisps of smoke still curling from his firearm.

Oswald’s eyes darted toward him. He began quickly waddling away, but Jason was fast. In two strides, he had closed the distance and grabbed Oswald by his jacket, wrenching him off his feet.

"You're going to answer my questions, Oswald," Red Hood growled, his crimson helmet reflecting the pale spotty light.

Oswald swallowed hard, eyes darting around. "You don't scare me, Hood. I don’t answer to you."

Red Hood leaned in, voice low and dangerous. "I know you're planning something big. Start talking: what happens next?"

“Like I already said, I don’t answer to you. Plus Hood, I ain’t no canary.”

Jason jams his gun into Oswald's sternum hard enough that a grunt is forced out. “Tell me, or I’ll just cut you out of the equation altogether.”

Tim has a physical reaction to Jason's action. You throw a hand up, signalling for him to wait.

“They won't let you kill me. That’d be ‘gainst Batman’s rules.”

Jason glances over his shoulder. Before Tim can agree with Oswald, you speak.

“Don’t stop on my account. I’m curious about what he’s talking about.”

“Dick?”

He speaks your name at the same time.

“What are you doing here?”

He ignores your question and places himself on your kitchen counter.

“You’ve been very hard to get a hold of.” There’s no malice in his voice, just concern and a hint of mirth.

“Yeah, I’ve been-“

“Busy? Tired? Out of town?” He chimes in before you can come up with a lie.

Huffing air through your nose, you smile at him, “Yeah, all those things.”

“I figured as much. I was in the area and saw a few shady people, so I figured I’d come check on you.”

“Shady people? In Gotham? What has this world come to?” He laughs with you

“I was going to ask if you wanted to join me on patrol, but I see you’ve already been out. Which is strange because I didn’t see you at all.”

“I’m sticking more under the radar, low-level guys. Didn’t feel like the theatrics tonight.”

You feel the air in the room shift. Dick looks at you, squints his eyes, and then suddenly he’s staring through you. “You’re trying to find a lead on Jason, aren’t you?”

“I don’t really want to talk about this, Dick.” Turning away, you make your way to the living room.

“I wasn’t going to bring it up, but you’ve been avoiding everyone. You look like you’ve gone through hell-”

“Wow, thanks, man.” You sarcastically widen your eyes.

“And I’m worried about you. I thought that you just needed some time to process everything, but it’s been weeks, and you’re still locking yourself away. I miss you. I miss my best friend.”

He joins you on the couch. Your knees touch as he looks at you with baby blue puppy dog eyes.

“I can’t lose you, too. Not after everything.”

“I’m not going anywhere Dickie. I just…needed some time.”

“I keep hoping that one night he’ll show up like nothing happened. Every time I’m out there, I keep an ear out for anything.”

You grunt in agreement, feeling that familiar old ache gnawing in your chest. You watch the city lights, wondering if Jason will ever be more than a ghost in your mind.

​

In a moment of weakness, you had agreed to go patrolling with Dick and Tim. Every night, they hovered, offering anecdotes and checking in on you. At one point, you were almost certain that Dick was going to give you a book or pamphlet about "How to Deal With Your Dead Boyfriend Coming Back and Almost Killing You". It took only three whole days before you had become suffocated by their coddling.

​

Tonight, you were out with Tim, exploring a rumor of Two-Face starting up his crime ring again. The objective was straightforward: find his guys, interrogate them, follow the lead, get evidence, then go home. In the two hours you had been staking out the warehouse, Tim had managed to ask you, "How are you doing?" fifteen times. He had offered (yet again) insight on how he felt when he thought Barbara had died. You knew he meant well, but this was the last thing you wanted or needed.

​

Thirty more minutes had passed, and still there was no sign of any life in or around the warehouse.

“It’s a bust. Let’s just call it a night, Robin.”

“We haven’t even been here long. Let’s stay a little longer than we can go.”

“Dude, we’ve been out here almost three hours. If someone were coming, they would have already been by.”

A beam of light, like liquid silver, blindsided your left eye, causing you to turn toward it. Scanning the surrounding rooftops reveals nothing; only the typical Gotham rooftops.

“Are you even listening to me?” Tim's exasperated voice finally reaches your ears.

“Sorry, I thought I saw something.”

As you stand there, the feeling of eyes on you creeps over you.

“Tim, do you feel that?”

“Feel what?” His whole face frowns at your question. Eyebrows pinched, and his mouth slants sideways.

“Nothing, don’t worry about it.” You shrug it off. Tim stares for a little longer at you before he nods and moves on to the next plan for the night.

Once again, you see the flicker of silver. Turning quickly, you have just enough time to make out a silhouette before it disappears.

All night, no matter what island, the building, or the area you were in, you swore someone was there watching you. After you and Tim had said goodbye and he asked one last time if you were really ok, you saw the silver flash again.

The noise of the Gotham streets fades away as you move quickly. You’re determined to catch a glimpse of who the shadow figure is before they dissolve into the city’s darkness. Your heart picks up pace the closer you get. Standing on the building, you freeze. Your heart pounds in your chest as the person stares back at you from their rooftop. A few seconds pass by. The sound of the city fills the space between you two. They begin running away. You pursue them.

After following them for a few minutes, you realize you’re having no luck in catching up. Your lungs beg for a break, and your legs throb from the abuse. You rest on the ledge of a roof, letting your legs dangle as you look down at the drifters moving through the streets. There's a sound of clothes rustling, and your hair bristles up. Turning towards the noise, you see the figure from earlier. They’re shrouded in shadow, making it impossible for you to make out what they look like. They begin stalking closer to you, and just before they can make it into the light, the shrill sound of an alarm sounds from down below, breaking the tension. You look toward the sound, and as you turn back, the figure has once again vanished into the night.

​

You swing your body through the window of your bedroom. Your pulse surges slightly with the excitement of getting into your pajamas and crawling into bed. Once fully in your room, you notice that the door is slightly open. Without wasting time, you unholster your gun, gently move the door open, and quietly surge toward the living room. Rounding the corner of the hallway, the moonlight, accompanied by the lights of the neon signs outside, outlines the broad silhouette that is standing in the center of the room. You can barely make out that the body is facing away from you.

“Drop your weapons.” Jason’s gruff voice hits your ears, causing you to lower the gun.

He turns just enough to watch you out of his peripheral vision. He sees you hesitate before you toss the gun on the couch, along with your utility belt. The holsters on your thighs come off next, and then the knife strapped to your calf.

“Take the knife out of your boot, too.”

You bring your leg up and pull the small blade out, letting it fall to the floor. The clattering sound of it hitting the floor echoes through your apartment. Your heart beats rapidly, making your blood thump in your ears, and you’re slightly worried that it echoes too. You flex and unflex your fingers in an attempt to calm yourself.

“It was you out there, watching me, and on the rooftop a few nights ok.”

Jason flinches at your voice, as if he wasn’t expecting you to speak. His response is an almost inaudible 'hmm'.

“I should have known it was you. I just thought I was being paranoid, or maybe I was hopefully wishing it was you.”

Moving forward, you consciously avoid spots that are known to creak.

“Don’t get close. Just,” a shaky sigh leaves him, ”just stay where you’re at.”

You repeat a soft whispered 'ok' a few times. With his back still turned to you, he breaks the silence, “Were you at the funeral?”

“Yes, we all were.”

“I had all these questions in my head to ask you, but now that I’m here, I-I don’t know where to start.” He chuckles dryly to himself.

“I’ve spent years thinking of what I’d say if I saw you again, but now that you’re here, I can’t think of a single thing.” You confess in an attempt to ease him. It seems to do the opposite.

“Seems like everyone got over it quickly. Dick, Bruce, even you. How long did it take for you to move on? Weeks, months, days?”

“Don’t do that, Jason. That’s not how it happened.”

“Bruce, got a new nonfucked up, unbroken, shiny Robin. You and Dick grew closer. All while I rotted in Arkham! All while Joker-” He stops himself, unable to voice what had happened to him.

“Jason, we didn’t know. If Bruce had even had half of an inkling that was happening, you know he would have stopped it.” You keep your voice neutral, not wanting to upset him further.

“He trained you, didn’t he?”

“For the most part, yes.”

He scoffs at your answer, “I can tell. You sound just like him.”

You ignore the jab.

“How long have you been back?”

“In Gotham for a few months. Alive, it’s been a few years. I didn’t want to come back to Gotham at first. Then all I wanted was to make Bruce pay.”

“Was that the only reason you came back?”

He hesitates for a moment. “Yes.”

You roll your lips between your teeth. The truth roots itself painfully in your gut, twisting with insecurity so sharp, you almost speak it aloud: Did you not think of me?

“What do you want now?”

“I don’t know.” He shakes his head slightly.

Before you’re able to say anything else, he’s stiffening up. “I need to go.”

“Jason, wait. Don’t go just yet.”

He’s moving briskly to the door. You move to cut him off. He keeps his head down, but puts his arms out in front of him. You step back.

“I can’t do this. I don’t-I can’t do this with you.” He’s grasping at the doorknob.

“Wait, Jay!”

“I’ll be leaving you alone, so you don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

“Please, just wait.” You’re begging, voice frantic now.

“I can’t see you again.”

The door to your apartment slams closed. The force rattles the walls. You’re left heartbroken and confused, just as you were that first night you saw him again. All your hopes crushed and swept away by the tears on your face.

Jason hurries out of the apartment building, his throat tight. He tries to catch his breath but can’t seem to get any air. Thoughts race. His jaw clenches. A thousand voices echo in his mind; each word makes everything worse. His eyes sting. He stumbles into the nearest alley and yanks off his helmet, letting it land with a dull thud. The sound barely cuts through the ringing in his ears. He bends over, hands on his thighs, sweat running down his face as he fights the bile rising in his throat. Minutes crawl by. He breathes deeply, and finally, his body stops shaking, allowing him to leave the alley. 

As Jason enters his dark apartment, he senses the other person immediately. 

“I’m not doing this with you. Not tonight.” His voice echoes off the empty walls.

“Jaybird, you can’t keep avoiding me. You can’t keep avoiding us.” Dick’s voice comes from the couch.

“Don’t call me that.” Jason grits out, his jaw, like the rest of his body, tight with tension. 

“Sorry, old habits die hard.”

“Just leave, Dick. I’m not in the mood.”

Dick springs up from the couch, crossing the small space to face Jason. “Look, I know things are weird right now for you. Internally, externally, all of the ternally’s. But if you’re going to stay in Gotham, you’re going to have to warm up to being around us again.” 

Sighing, Jason presses his fists into his forehead. “I know, but I’m not ready. I just need more time. I need more time to figure things out. I’m not back to normal, not that I think I’ll ever be, but I’m…I’m more fucked up than usual right now.” 

Dick nods, “We’ll be here every step of the way.”

Jason shakes his head in return, “You’re not getting it, Dick. I’m still dealing with hating all of you. Everything in me is still screaming to kill Bruce, and it’s taking everything not to attack you right now. For years, my only drive was taking down Bruce. Now, I’m here, attempting to unwire that drive in me.”

“Ok, so we do a bit of waiting!”

The hope in Dick’s voice grates against Jason’s nerves like nails on metal. Rage pulses through him; his hand curls into a fist.  

“Have you spoken to-”

Jason's quick to interrupt Dick. “I don't want to talk about her.” 

Uncomfortable silence fills the room.

“You know she’s going to want to see you.” 

Jason ignored him, turning and walking to the kitchenette. 

“You can’t avoid her. You need to talk to her, you owe her that much.”

“It’s time for you to go.” There’s no room for argument in his tone, but it's too bad Dick doesn’t care.

“Jason, she’s deserving of answers from you. Plus, it might do you some good to be around her.”

Jason glares at Dick. “You’re making not attacking you, really difficult.” 

“It’s a special talent of mine. But seriously, you guys need to speak to each other. Hash everything out, catch up, rekindle old flames.”

Jason's nauseous again as your betrayed face pops into his mind. The iron smell of your blood overwhelms his senses. He’s shaking with rage. 

“Dick, leave now.” 

Dick watches Jason react to the subject of you. He notices the way his hands clench in and out. He notices the erratic breathing and the intensity with which Jason shuts his eyes. He decides that for now, he’ll let Jason win this round. With a last glance at Jason, Dick quickly leaves through the open window.  

As the room grows quiet, Jason knows he must rid himself of anger, guilt, and shame. He needs to be physical; he needs to feel pain. With unfocused eyes, he gazed out the open window, contemplating the idea swirling in his mind.

"Fuck it," he growls, storming to his room and quickly arming himself with weapons and ammo.

Jason leaves through the window. Stepping out onto the fire escape, he looks out over the streets. His eyes take in all the low-lifes, the druggies, the people just trying to get from point A to B. Jason yanks his hood over his helmet and descends, boots clanging against the metal steps.

Jason throws your limp body over his shoulder and descends the fire escape, your weight doing nothing to slow his movements. Reaching the APC, he roughly throws you into the backseat. Jason shows no care at how your body flops against the cold metal like a ragdoll; a dull thud echoes in the otherwise silent vehicle. 

With a sudden jolt, you're awake, jerking against the heavy ropes that tie your arms to the wooden chair below you. The smell of gunpowder and something metallic fills your nostrils, and the darkness so thick you open your eyes wider, just to make sure they weren't still closed.

Suddenly, there's the sound of shuffling and a door opening in front of you, and you’re given no time to recognize the blue and red lights illuminating the Knight before you're blinded by harsh light. There's a buzz coming from the lights that mimics the buzzing that's pounding in your head.

The sounds of heavy boots move in your direction, and you squint, forcing your eyes to focus on him.

"I'm disappointed. I was expecting more of a fight." 

You scoff, "Untie me, and we'll go again." 

He only stalks closer to you, the robotic helmet intensely locked on you. 

"Or are you too chicken-shit for that?" 

He doesn’t respond until he’s in your personal space. "Your taunts might work on weaker men, but this isn't about you and me. This is purely about our shared friend." 

There's a beat of silence as he circles you.

"Sorry, you're going to have to help me out here. I mean, I-I seriously doubt we have a mutual friend." 

"Oh, come on, birdy, think." His condescending voice fills you with anger.

"I kidnapped Barbara. I knew all the hiding spots and ways to attack Bats." You remain silent, eyes staring uninterested at him. 

"I'm after Bruce." 

"I don't know a Bruce, sorry." 

"Ahh, birdy, cut the bullshit. This is a safe place. No one's listening. Now–" 

"Like I said, I don't know a Bruce. Now can you cut the bullshit and either kill me or untie me. My ass is going numb from this chair."

Arkham Knight stands directly in front of you. Your only choices are to glare at his pelvis or glare up at him. His gloved hand reaches out and tilts your head up, and you stare at each other's masked faces. The tension has you tingling from head to toe, and you shift in your seat. With a tightening grip on your neck, the Arkham Knight leaves you unable to decipher the intentions hidden behind the impassive mask that conceals his face.

The sudden yank of your hood sends a shiver down your spine, the loss of fabric leaving a burning trail on your neck. You pathetically press yourself into the back of the chair, feeling the cold wood dig into your back as you struggle against his hold, your bound limbs useless. 

"Help me with Bruce, and I'll leave your mask on." He says the sentence so sickeningly sweetly that it practically drips off his lips and into your ears. 

"I don't know a Bruce." 

A humorless laugh comes out of him. "You'd rather protect him than yourself? He can't even protect you! He couldn't protect Barbara, and he won't protect Tim either.” He gives a laugh in disbelief.

“Do you know how easy it was to find and get you here? He didn't interfere once; no one did. No one showed they cared about you, yet here you are, risking your identity for him. It's pathetic how he has you all brainwashed. You're pathetic." He spits out the last sentence as if it pained him to say it.

"I'm not here to hurt you. I just want to hurt Bruce. So I'll give you one more chance. Either help me with him or lose your protection." 

"God, do you just love to hear yourself talk? I told you I don't know a Bruce, so either piss or get off the pot." 

He chuckles, "You're an intrepid, foolish birdy."

There’s a knot of tension in your stomach as he bends down, waiting for his next move. He places his hands on the thick mask covering your face and, with a slow, deliberate movement, begins lifting it from your face. Time ticks by agonizingly slowly. You stare into the cold, unwavering LED blue slits of his mask, the light reflecting in your own eyes. As the mask leaves your face, you remain unmoved, shoulders straight and head held high. 

"Now what?" Your face contorted in a sneer, your nostrils flaring as you looked at him with utter disgust. 

He lunges to full height and stumbles backward, the movement jerky and awkward. With another jerky move, he turns his back to you, and your mask clatters to the floor, echoing in the silence. 

The moment hung in the air, but before it could continue, a loud explosion behind you has your chair propelling forward. Using the momentum, you slam it down on the ground; the wood cracks and splintering pieces fly all around you and you’re finally free.

Frantically, you fumble for your mask, fingers brushing against the smooth material before pulling it over your face. Your heart pounds as you turn to see the chaos.

It's Batman- of course, it's fucking Batman, you think. 

You watch as they are at each other's throats. Arkham Knight standing his own against Batman; with every move that Bruce makes, Arkham Knight counters perfectly. The fight resembled a deadly waltz: quick steps, sharp turns, and the glint of steel under the buzzing white lights – a far cry from a clumsy brawl. 

Bruce throws Arkham Knight across the room, giving him time to check on you. As Bruce faces you, Arkham Knight stands, and the harsh light of the room pings off the gun he's unholstering. 

"Batman-" You try to warn him, but are interrupted by the Knight.

"Turn around." He demands of Bruce.

"Who are you?" Bruce's voice is firm, and as he turns, he shields your body with his broad one, hiding the Knight from your view.

"You really have no idea, do you, Bruce?" With a hiss, his helmet retracted, morphing the robotic voice into the familiar tones of a deadman.

"Jason? But… you're dead." 

Not believing your ears, you step around Bruce. Your eyes lock onto the man ghost in front of you. Bile burns the back of your throat, and hot tears blur your vision as your eyes widen in shock. A cold sweat slicks your back as a shiver runs down your spine, chilling you to the bone—your heart hammers in your chest, a frantic drum against your ribs. Bruce’s lips begin working, but his words are lost on your ears. As everything around you fades into nothingness, leaving only Jason in view, he pointedly ignores your presence, acting as if you are entirely invisible.

Bruce pushes you away as Jason circles him like a wolf stalking its prey. 

"What's the matter? Lost for words? I expected more..I'm hurt." 

Bruce mirrors Jason. "Joker sent me the film. I saw him…kill you." 

"Don't you dare lie to me! How long did you wait before replacing me, huh? A month? A week? I trusted you…and you..you left me to die!" His voice seething with raw emotion. 

"That's not what happened!" Bruce's voice comes out harsh.

"You always told me, Bruce, focus on what I want to achieve, and it'll happen. Well, you want to know what I want now, huh? I want you dead." Jason snarls as he gestures at Bruce with his gun.

"Jason-" He finally turns his fire-filled eyes to you.

"And what about you, huh? How long did it take for you to forget about me? How long until I was nothing but a distant memory?" His acid-coated words slice through your heart like knives. Your tears bleed down your face. 

"Don't say that. Don't pretend like I'd ever forget you." You move to approach him like you'd approach a feral animal, palms towards him, showing you mean no harm, and your footsteps light. 

In your approach, Bruce sees the opportunity to pounce. He lunges forward, pounding his head into Jason's. Jason stumbles backward before putting more distance between the three of you. Bruce throws a smoke pellet down and grabs hold of you before grappling back through the way he came. Two warning shots follow the smoke trail. 

"You can't hide from me! I will hunt you down!" Jason's pained and anger-ridden voice calls out after the two of you. And the bile rises back to your throat.   

The helmet clattered against the ground as Jason angrily threw it down, collapsing onto his knees. His breath hitched in ragged gasps, hot and sour, with the bile threatening to overflow. His mind kept replaying everything. The visceral disgust on your face when he took your mask off, and then the heartbroken, teary-eyed look when he yelled at you. The way Bruce reacted and spoke sounded genuine. 

Maybe he really mourned me. Maybe he cared.

Doesn't matter; he never tried. He replaced me. He didn't care enough to save me.

I need to see her. I need to talk to her. 

No, she's just like him. 

Stop!

His mind was going in circles, dizzying him. He couldn't focus on anything, and his thoughts kept racing. The more he tried to calm down, the more anxious he became. He felt trapped in a never-ending cycle of worry and fear, unable to escape. Suddenly, he was back in the asylum with Joker. His undershirt was too tight. His skin felt weird moving over his joints, and his lungs couldn't get enough air. Jason runs his hands through his hair, pulling at the raven-colored strands. His hands come to cover his face, and for the first time in a while, he allows himself to cry. 

On a tall building in the middle of Gotham, you and Bruce are standing, looking at each other, but it’s more like you’re looking through each other. Both of your minds race with what had happened. You didn't know how long you had on the building, it could have been five minutes, could have been 5 hours. You would believe either one. You can't stop thinking of Jason's face. 

The last time you had seen Jason was when he was still a pimply, slightly pudgy sixteen-year-old. Now, he's a twenty-seven-year-old with scars covering his chiseled face. Yet, the one thing that had been unchanged by time was his vibrant teal eyes. You’d never forget them and how he could still look directly into your soul, leaving you feeling like you had stood bare before him. 

"What do we do now?" Despite how hard you try to sound normal, your voice comes out in a whisper. 

"We continue to fight. Gotham still needs us. It doesn't change anything. We keep going unless he stops." His gruff voice comes out even more clipped than usual.

"But it does change things, Bruce, you know that." 

"No, it can't change anything. He is still the Arkham Knight. He is still wreaking havoc on Gotham." 

"Tell me honestly that it doesn't change things for you, Bruce."

"It just makes it more personal." Bruce is off into the night, leaving you alone with your thoughts.