#shhitscass

Could they stop Alleytown's destruction? The League's victory speech suggested that there was no way to evacuate in time. Even if nobody died, and the Lazarus Lake could restore every civilian, there was still the problem of an entire borough of Gotham with Lazarus Fever.

There was Altair to deal with, Tim had reported his presence and that Ra's was not a threat- as Bruce had suspected from JJ's photograph of the man, restrained and vegetative. Another issue. Saving Ra's al Ghul whilst he was in need of life support. Alleytown was the higher priority but it reaffirmed to Bruce that they needed to prevent the cataclysm, and soon.

If Altair had planned the detonation, then Bruce would simply have to break the information out of him. He clenched his fists, rhythmically, reminding himself that his children could take this information. Take it and save Alleytown.

The Lazarus Lake itself was a concern, but it could be handled after- and Bruce couldn't help the sickly urge to wonder if Hal could... if- if that could be undone. If blood could be washed from Steph's hands before it dried.

To Cass, he communicated in silent, clear body language, capture the clone. We need to stop his plan.

Summary: Bruce's Events of the Last Few Hours of Drama

Please mind these content warnings and stay safe:

Canon-typical violence

Minor Unsafe Medical Procedure

Forced but non-sexual nudity

Intimacy Coercion (Joker)

Gotham, Bruce thought. Holding onto that one, brilliant clear thought in the fugue state Wilson had left his head in. I am still in Gotham.

He felt strangely foolish, not having realized sooner. Like he had missed the last step on his way down the stairs, and had hit the marble face-first. Cassie. His darling Cass. Who had been raised so quiet and so alone. Cass with her dark, warm eyes and the cheek of her smile, and the courage with every word she said.

Or maybe, hadn't been saying.

Cass saw everything.

After his conversation with Jay, the words had cut through whatever oblivious, closed-off stubborn certainty he'd had before:

"But they'll figure it out eventually...if they haven't already."

Cassie. She saw everything. He exhaled, hard, harder than it needed to be with his sore ribs, and decided this was a good enough reason to break out of his room. He needed to speak with his little girl about- about what she saw, or didn't see, said, or hadn't said.

If he had... hurt her, somehow in this. G-d. Had he hurt her? And what about Steph. About how Cass was hurting. Had he never prepared her for... for this? Had he instead made her more vulnerable somehow?

It was hard to think, except that, he needed to speak with Cass.

Shuffling out of his bed, Bruce made a decided effort to be stealthy as he pulled his dressing gown on and slipped from his bedroom. Making his way to Cass' room, and knocking very quietly on her door.

"Sweetheart...?" He whispered through the wood. "Can we talk for a moment?"

As he suspected, they had been keeping him in the decontamination units. It made sense; depriving him of resources was the surest way to ensure he stayed put. That and the concussion. What the League had paid Wilson for a strongly debilitating injury without brain bleed was...

Probably in his budget, if Bruce was that sort of man.

The reminder only pushed Bruce to work quicker. Dick had been locked in combat with Deathstroke, and... Deathstroke had a way of rattling Dick's marbles. JJ was alive, at the least, Bruce had been unexpectedly rescued by the lad's lockpicks.

Resource assessment.

Joker's jacket, functionally not useful wrapped around Bruce's hips, but better than facing a ninja with everything- well hanging out. He really could not reiterate how little he liked fighting naked.

A set of lockpicks. Useful, simplistic. Partially destroyed by having to use them to break out.

Handcuffs, no key, but functional.

As expected, Bruce could not find his cowl, suit or belt. Not one batarang was in evidence, but the decontamination unit did have cupboards filled with... he held it out with a squint. Essentially a bathrobe ending near his knees. He grimaced, but pulled it on and tied in, only briefly glancing at the League's crest on its breast.

I look like I've had a one night stand at the world's least edifying spa, Bruce grunted as he considered the jacket...

Useless. And yet- after everything he had been through, his knuckles were still clenched in the fabric. What had been the purpose of dunking the Joker? Ordering the hit just to revive him?

He broke even. Reaching into the inner lining to withdraw the trademark card he just knew would be there. That he slipped in the pocket of the robe, along with the picks. The cuffs he looped over the soft fabric belt tied at his waist.

Okay. Time to go.

Currently Bruce Wayne has been captured by Ra's al Ghul, and is being held under Alleytown in Gotham. He has seen a VERY big Lazarus Lake under there which did not get planning permissions from the city.

His trackers were deactivated and removed.

At present, nobody knows his location, though happy to plot a rescue / escape down the line, but since I'm busy ooc today, for now he can sit there and think about what he did and gather intel on Ra's.