Chapter Text
Somewhere
“Rewind back thirty seconds, half speed.”
The screen above immediately answered, the images slowly filtering back across its display. The room watched on, dozens of analysts, engineers, and scientific consultants scratching down an endless series of notes and observations, before they’d be dismissed from the room.
“Stop!” A deep voice ordered, their words echoing throughout the room and causing a few of the more introverted individuals among them to flinch.
“Zoom and enhance!”
On screen, a rectangular box surrounded the subject of today’s meeting, isolating it from it’s surroundings and giving the team a clearer picture. Three additional lines then passed over it from top to bottom, with each pass the picture became sharper. Yet still, there wasn’t much in the way of detail for the scientists to go off of, practically just a line of gold and a mishmash of grays and blacks.
“I’m sorry sir.” One of the technicians apologized, spinning around in his office chair to face his boss. “This is as clear as I can make it. Maybe in a few days I can collect enough footage to form a preliminary picture, but as of now I don’t think we have enough to work with.”
“How much footage were we able to collect?”
That question made another of the scientists bark out an annoyed scoff.
“The GCPD’s efforts have been lackluster at best. They’re still canvassing the city, but I doubt we’ll get much more than what we currently have. Assuming, of course, that the rest of the footage isn’t sold off to the highest bidder. GCN has already plastered what we do have across every TV in America by this point.”
“I still can’t believe that the most expensive police force in the United States had their entire server taken offline. Even more unbelievably, they didn’t have a backup!” Another voice chimed in.
Their boss didn’t even bother to send either voice a look their way. As it was, he wasn’t surprised. It made perfect sense that all of last night’s bodycam and street cam footage was gone. It was standard procedure, a protocol that had been drilled into his head with all the subtlety of an elephant on skates.
“Sir! I think me and a few of the others have an idea of how to get a clearer picture of the subject.” Another voice called out hesitantly.
Their boss broke his staring contest with the screen to provide his full, undivided attention to the speaker. He didn’t even look surprised to be staring down at what appeared to be one of the building’s newest interns. The young woman did her best to school herself under his gaze, but she could feel her nerves skyrocket under her skin.
“Go on.” The man prodded, voice flat and cold.
The girl steeled herself before barreling in, “Me and a few of the other interns think we should interview a few of the officers and other witnesses who were there last night. We may even be able to get ahead of the news organizations. From there, we should be able to draw a sketch of the subject. After that, we can pin down the finer details through a few additional interviews……… It won’t be as good as the footage, but it should be something to get us started.”
“Good idea. Go.” The man ordered, drawing a confused look from the girl.
Taking pity on her, one of the other scientists leaned over and whispered in her ear, “That means go do it, right now.”
Had her boss been looking at her, he would have seen her pale before turning and ushering three other interns towards the door. Behind them, a few of the staff openly smirked as the girl whispered frantically to her team, no doubt giving them their marching orders. But their boss wasn’t watching them. No, he was back to focusing on the screen above him.
When he had first seen the images last night on the news, he felt a cold chill race down his spine. A chill that he hadn’t felt in years. Because it was impossible! Yet the images spoke of a different truth, a much more unpleasant one.
It had taken less than four phone calls to have the images, and all associated footage sent to him, never let it be said he couldn’t communicate with people. But as it was, it was useless to him. He had a vague picture of what the figure on the screen looked like of course, but he couldn’t be certain of who it was without more data and until he did, he was dead in the water. Worse, his house of cards was looking like it may tumble in the near future. That was unless he made a sharp pivot to new horizons soon.
Casting his gaze over his many workers surrounding him, he mentally checked off those he thought would be open to a new direction, while also accounting for the soon to be many open positions. But this was business and in order to survive he needed to get away from the latest invasive species, and the thing up on that screen was certainly a new invasive species. It was only a matter of time.
Because he had no doubts, that figure plastered above him on the screen was a Spartan. Worse, it was a Spartan with an AI.
XXXXXXXXXX
Gotham General Hospital – 12PM
Bruce blinked awake, the world blurry and unfocused around him. Blinking his eyes slowly, he could just barely make out the bright whites of the room around him. Looking downwards, the lower half of his body was wrapped in pale blue. There were also lines of black snaking outwards from what he guessed was his arm. He flexed his hand and was relieved to see the pinkish blob contort in response. Sighing, he slumped back and repeated the action with his right arm, but below him, nothing moved.
Looking over, he realized that the only thing on his right side was the pale blue of the blanket. Just beyond, all he could see was the solid white of the wall.
His arm was gone. Why was his arm gone?
With that thought, a surge of memories flooded into his mind. Images of hurtling through Gotham in the Batmobile, Oracle’s voice in the background becoming more and more frantic with each passing second. His hands spinning the car’s wheel as he drifted around a corner before pressing the accelerator down to the floor. From there it was a blur of combat, his fists and kicks flying across his vision. Ordinarily, he would have been treated to the looks of shock and fear plastered across the goons he was fighting, but there were none to be found this time. Instead, what little he saw was made up of an armored suit and his own reflection staring back at him from a line of gold.
Bruce was pulled from his spiral by a loud snort across the room. Instantly, his body tensed and he moved to lever himself out of bed, but white hot pain put an end to that plan before it could even begin. It seems his chest was in worse condition than he thought and he’d have to learn to not use his right arm to complete tasks. At least the pain seemed to have jumpstarted something in his brain as his vision was much more clear now.
Across the room, Bruce found Dick huddled up in one of the room’s plastic chairs. He watched on as his son blinked himself awake and stretched, how he managed to remain comfortable in such as small chair, Bruce will never know. Leaning forward, Dick pressed his hands to his face and let out a long sigh, before his hands slid downwards. It was then that his gaze flicked over to Bruce for a second before darting away again. Only for the young man to snap back towards Bruce as his mind caught up with what his eyes had seen.
Dick’s chair screeched against the floor as he bolted upright, his eyes wide and filled with a mix of relief and guilt. “Bruce!” he exclaimed, his voice cracking slightly. He was at the bedside in an instant, his hands hovering uncertainly, as if he wasn’t sure whether to touch Bruce or not. “You’re awake. Thank God. I thought—I thought you might not—”
Bruce cut him off with a weak but firm shake of his head. “I’m fine,” he rasped, his voice rough and unfamiliar to his own ears. He winced as he shifted slightly, the pain in his chest flaring again. “What happened?”
Dick’s face darkened, and he sank into the chair beside the bed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “You don’t remember?”
Bruce frowned, his mind still piecing together fragments of the fight. The armored suit, the gold reflection, the Commissioner’s voice—it was all there, but it felt like trying to grasp smoke. “Bits and pieces,” he admitted. “Enough to know it didn’t go well.”
Dick let out a bitter laugh. “That’s an understatement.”
Bruce watched silently as Dick seemed to sink back into the chair, a loud huff escaping his lips as he all but deflated. It was at that moment that Bruce finally noticed that Dick was still dressed in his Nightwing gear and that his domino had yet to leave his face. On instinct, he reached up to check for his own cowl, only to remember his right arm was gone as the white, wrapped stub flicked across his vision. Stifling an annoyed growl, he switched to his left arm and reached upwards. Almost immediately, he could feel the long ears and cool armor of his cowl, however the armor itself seemed to have been cracked and dented.
Dick seemed to watch Bruce’s mind race before deciding to just get on with things, “Where do you want to start?”
“Where are we?” Bruce asked as he settled back into the bed.
“Gotham General.” Dick answered, watching as Bruce tensed and scowled across from him. “Oh, don’t give me that! We didn’t have much of a choice, what with you collapsing in the middle of the street, Robin being obviously concussed, and the Birds in varying states of awfulness. I gotta tell ya, we’re really up the creek with this one, B.”
“How’s Robin and the Birds?” Bruce questioned, mentally going through his various contingencies and plans.
“Baby Bird has a moderate TBI and is with Agent A back in the cave. Needless to say, but he’s not going to be doing anything for the foreseeable future. Or at least until he can string together a fully coherent sentence.
As for the Birds, Huntress is in the worst shape. Her neck looks like someone tried to pull her head off and just couldn’t manage it. She also has a mild TBI. Batwoman has a cracked sternum and bruising across her back, in addition to her own mild TBI. Finally, Black Canary is the least injured of the group, but she has the worst concussion ……… You should see the side of her head, B. Its nothing but black and purple from her temple to the back of her head. They’re all here in the hospital too. Along with Quinn.”
“Harley?” Bruce pressed.
“Ya, she’s ah………. She’s alive. I don’t think she’s out of surgery yet though.” Dick answered with a sigh as his hand swept through his hair. Below him, Bruce could see his knee bouncing incessantly as his son’s nerves manifested. Dick was never one to sit still when he was dealing with a problem.
Bruce absorbed the information in silence, his mind already racing through the implications. Part of his mind flashed back to a dark alley, a storm above as the rain filled tiny puddles around him. In front of him, two very familiar bodies were sprawled out, red leaking out onto the cement below, only broken up by the stark white of pearls. He swiftly banished the memory away, his logical mind dictating that it was a coping mechanism in response to feeling helpless.
“I need to speak to Gordon.” He spoke, moving to sit up. But Dick was on him before he could make any serious progress.
“Jesus, B! Stop! You’re in no condition to be moving around!” Dick frantically spoke, his voice tinged with panic. He shoved his hand against Bruce’s left shoulder and pressed his father back onto the mattress.
“I need to speak with Gordon.” Bruce repeated, a growl coloring his words.
“Ya, I got that memo. But I’m serious! The doctors say that too much movement may trigger additional fractures or potentially internal bleeding. So, until they say you’re good to move, you’re stuck in this bed.” Dick shot back.
“I can take the pain.” Bruce answered, receiving an eyeroll in response.
“You have two, TWO! Intact ribs. The rest look like someone’s jacked up puzzle, with little screws and plates thrown in randomly. Your ankle looks like a purple grapefruit and what little I saw of your back seems to match. Speaking of your legs, your left knee was also dislocated, I don’t know if you knew that. Your kidneys, lungs, and intestines are also beaten to hell and there was enough internal bleeding that you required two blood transfusions. That doesn’t even begin to get into the amount of pulled and hyperextended muscles scattered throughout your body. And, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, BUT YOU’RE MISSING AN ARM!” Dick shouted, his hands frantically waving towards Bruce’s side as he jumped back to his feet.
The room went silent as Dick huffed, his face colored a bright red and his eyes glassy. Bruce’s jaw tightened as he processed Dick’s outburst, his mind racing through the litany of injuries Dick had just listed. He knew he was in bad shape—he could feel the pain radiating through his body with every shallow breath—but hearing it laid out so starkly was another matter entirely.
Dick slumped back into the chair, his shoulders sagging under the weight of exhaustion and frustration. He dragged a hand down his face, his domino mask slightly askew, revealing the dark circles under his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice quieter now, tinged with regret. “I didn’t mean to yell. It’s just… you’re always like this. You always push yourself too far, and now… now you’re…” He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.
“It’ll be fine, Chum.” Bruce tried to assure, even knowing that he was struggling to find contingencies to address everything going on around them. He had planned for nearly everything, but that didn’t mean he was immune to a few blind spots in his plans.
“Its not going to be fine. Not for a long time……… But I appreciate that you’re saying it.” Dick conceded as he leaned forward and wrapped his head in his hands. “Sometimes I forget under all that armor and darkness that you’re still human.”
Bruce didn’t respond immediately. He knew Dick was right, but admitting it felt like surrendering. Like failing. He’d spent his entire life building himself into something more than human, something that could withstand anything Gotham threw at him. But now, lying here, he felt more human than he had in years. He wondered if this was how Jason felt, in his final moments.
“Gordon,” Bruce said after a long pause, his tone firm but not unkind. “I need to speak to him. Even if it’s just for a few minutes. I need to know what’s happening out there.”
Dick sighed. He looked like he wanted to argue, but he must have seen the determination in Bruce’s eyes because he simply nodded. “Fine! I’ll see if I can get him on the phone. But you’re not moving from that bed, understand? Not even an inch.”
Bruce gave a small nod of acknowledgment, and Dick stood, pulling out his phone as he walked to the far side of the room. Bruce watched him go, his mind already turning to the next steps. He needed information. He needed a plan. And he needed to figure out who—or what—had done this to him and his team.
As Dick spoke quietly into the phone, Bruce’s gaze drifted to the window. The sky outside was overcast, the faint glow of nearby skyscrapers barely visible through the haze. Near the bottom edge of the window, he could see the flicker of lights. Probably cars passing by on the street below.
A tap on his shoulder had Bruce turning back to Dick, who had his phone held out to him. With a nod of thanks, Bruce reached up and took the phone, settling it against his ear. Then, coloring his voice with the distinctive Batman growl, he spoke,
“Commissioner.” He greeted.
The voice on the other end of the line was gruff, tinged with exhaustion but unmistakably Gordon’s. “Batman.”
“What’s the situation?” Bruce continued on, flicking a glance towards Dick as he did. He then decided to switch the phone on to speaker and place it near the edge of the bed.
“What’s the………. Batman you were just massacred in front of my officers! In the middle of Gotham for Christ’s sake!........ The situation is, we’re screwed ten ways to Sunday and I’m stuck trying to cobble together what few officers I can, while simultaneously dealing with you, the mayor, the media, and fucking Arkham! If I had my way, the National Guard would already be on every corner and Arkham would be more locked down than Fort Knox!” Gordon answered angrily. Bruce could see Dick wince out of the corner of his eye.
“What happened to your officers?” Bruce asked, deciding to tackle each issue individually.
Through the phone, the two vigilantes could hear a heavy sigh before Gordon spoke once more, “There’s been a surge of resignations, both this morning and after last night. A few were already planning on it, but the rest are just plain terrified. They know what’s coming and want to be as far away from Gotham as possible before the next big break out. I’ve had to have the mayor declare what we’re calling a soft declaration of marshal law. Essentially, nothing’s changing in our day to day operations but its put a halt to the tidal wave of resignations. That, of course, is resulting in a lot of no call no shows, or people just disappearing off the face of Gotham, but we’re already spread too thin as it is to do anything about it.”
“That many officers have quit?” Dick asked, his surprise evident in his voice.
“I’m down more than fifty percent from where I was yesterday morning, and that tally still isn’t done.” Gordon sighed.
“Why are they all fleeing? There’s been bigger threats and disasters before.” Bruce pointed out.
“You’d be right except for one thing.” Gordon started to explain before becoming more tentative as he spoke, “In the past, no one had any idea what you were doing , where you were, or how you were. This time, everyone has photographic evidence of you getting beat to hell and……….” He trailed off.
“What Gordon?” Bruce growled.
Gordon sighed again. “Our bodycam and patrol car footage was corrupted some time last night. But there’s been a lot of cell phone videos making their way onto the web. Most of them are being taken down a few minutes after being posted, but GCN managed to download four videos before they were taken down. Since then, they’ve been broadcasting it on every channel and having their panel break down every frame.”
“What footage?” Bruce pressed, not seeing Dick look away from him.
“Let me start by saying that the footage is really grainy and its somewhat hard to make out exactly what’s happening.” Gordon tried to assure, but Bruce was having none of it.
“What footage!”
“They got footage of the last two minutes of your fight.” Gordon answered sadly.
“Meaning that all of Gotham and the world saw The Batman get his arm ripped off. Before being loaded up in an ambulance.” Dick added on, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose.
“I’ve already ordered all the televisions out of Arkham and we’ve locked down the library and forbidden the staff from speaking about it, but it’s only a matter of time. And that’s small potatoes compared to the rest of the city. The media has been trying nonstop to break into your room there at GGH, so much so that your entire floor has had to be emptied. On the city front, crime is at an all-time low, and it seems like everyone is holding their breath.” Gordon explained quickly.
“Oracle has been monitoring everything, but its bad, B.” Dick added on as he turned back towards Bruce. “Black Mask is preparing a blitz through the harbor, aimed specifically at Oswald. While Dent has been eyeing what’s left of the mob on the Eastside. There’s also the remains of Freeze’s gang and the Freaks.” Dick explained, trying to show he was already on top of everything.
But Bruce could barely hear him over the ringing in his ears. The situation was far worse than he had thought. The only silver lining he could see was that his identity was still hidden. But what good was that secret identity if the symbol he represented was no longer feared?
“Ba……?”
“Batm…..?”
“Bruce!”
Bruce blinked, his vision refocusing on Dick’s face, which was now inches from his own. The ringing in his ears subsided, replaced by the steady beep of the heart monitor and the distant hum of hospital machinery. He realized he’d been holding his breath and exhaled sharply, his chest aching with the effort.
“I’m here,” Bruce said, his voice low but steady. He glanced at the phone still resting on the bed, Gordon’s voice faintly crackling through the speaker. It seems he had been pulled away for a moment, but was clearly waiting for whatever Bruce had to say.
“Batman needs to be seen tonight.” Bruce finally spoke.
“B, you’re in no” Dick started to respond.
“I’m not talking about me, Nightwing.” Bruce answered with a hard look towards his son. To Dick’s credit, it only took him a second to figure out what Bruce meant.
“No! I don’t want it. I’ve never wanted it.” Dick protested, schooling his expression.
“It’s beyond that now, Nightwing. We don’t have a choice. Gotham can’t afford to be seen without a Batman. It’ll undo all the good we’ve done……. Everything……… every sacrifice will be for nothing if criminals aren’t afraid anymore.” Bruce started to reason.
Sensing Dick’s hesitation through the phone, Gordon immediately jumped in, “He’s right kid. Think about how it’ll look if there’s no vigilante presence tonight. It’d be like opening Pandora’s Box, and you know we have no way to close it once its open……. The city will be decimated.”
Dick’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides as he stared at Bruce. The weight of the cowl—both literal and metaphorical—was something he had spent years trying to escape. He had built his own identity as Nightwing, carved out a life separate from the shadow of the Bat. And now, here he was, being asked to step back into that shadow, to become the very thing he had worked so hard to distance himself from.
“B…” Dick began, his voice strained. “You know what that mantle means. What it does to people. I’ve seen what it’s done to you. I don’t want that. I can’t want that.”
Bruce’s expression softened, just slightly. “I know,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But this isn’t about what you want. It’s about what Gotham needs. And right now, Gotham needs Batman. It needs the symbol. It needs the fear.”
Dick turned away, pacing the small hospital room. His mind raced, torn between duty and self-preservation. He thought about the city—about the people who would suffer if the criminals lost their fear. He thought about the kids in Crime Alley, the ones who still looked to the sky, hoping to see the Bat-Signal. He thought about Barbara, about Jason, about Tim, about everyone who had ever believed in the mission.
And then he thought about Bruce. Broken, battered, missing an arm, but still trying to hold the line. Still trying to protect the city, even from a hospital bed.
“Fine,” Dick said finally, his voice heavy with resignation. He turned back to Bruce, his eyes hard. “But this is temporary. I’m not you. I’ll never be you. And the second you’re back on your feet, this is your problem.”
Bruce nodded, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes. “Understood.”
“Ok, that’s a good stopgap, but we still have the issue of most of your team being down. Word’s already spreading and that’s going to inspire some to get a bit more aggressive, on top of the expected blitz.” Gordon pointed out.
On the bed, Bruce looked down as his eyes began to dart back and forth as he thought. Gordon was right. If word was already spreading that the Bats were down, then Dick was walking into a minefield with only Oracle and Alfred as back up. Bruce knew that Dick was a capable vigilante, and he wouldn’t have asked this of him if he wasn’t sure Dick would be able to handle it. But he couldn’t let his son go without back up, not again.
“Green Arrow.” Bruce thought aloud before quickly going through the rest of his list. “Zatanna, Azrael, Wildcat, The Question, and Catwoman.”
Bruce’s voice was firm, though strained, as he listed off the names. Dick’s eyes widened slightly at the mention of Catwoman, but he didn’t comment. Now wasn’t the time for personal grievances.
“Green Arrow and Zatanna are solid,” Dick said, nodding. “But Azrael? The Question? They’re… unpredictable. And Catwoman…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening.
“They’re what we have,” Bruce interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Azrael is ruthless, but he’s effective. The Question is a wildcard, but he’s thorough. And Catwoman…” He paused, his gaze locking with Dick’s. “She’s resourceful. She knows Gotham as well as we do. And she’s fought alongside us before.”
Dick sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. But if this blows up in our faces, it’s on you.”
Bruce ignored the jab, his mind already racing ahead. “Gordon, I need you to coordinate with Oracle. She’ll handle reaching out to our allies. Nightwing, you’ll need to suit up as Batman tonight. Oracle will guide you, but you’ll have to make the calls in the field. Stick to the shadows. Be seen, but don’t engage unless absolutely necessary. We need to reestablish the fear, not start a war.”
“I’ve literally been on my own for months now in Bludhaven, B. You don’t need to worry. I’ll be fine.” Dick assured with a smirk.
Gordon’s voice crackled through the phone. “I’ll do what I can on my end, but my hands are tied. The mayor’s breathing down my neck, I’ll keep the Bat-Signal lit, but don’t expect much backup.”
“Understood,” Bruce said. He turned to Dick, his expression softening just slightly.
“Be careful.”
Dick’s lips twitched into a faint, humorless smile. “Always am.”