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elena-mayfair · 1 year ago

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Fighting fear

Paring: Batman/Bruce Wayne x f!reader Genre: Thriller, mystery, with elements of slow-burn romance Warnings: rating T+/M, disturbing images, strong language, violence, depictions of illness, depictions of trauma, depictions of mental and physical abuse, lost of angst Summary: You wanted to close your eyes and disappear. Disappear forever. Push away the thoughts of the nightmare that was yet to come, dismiss the memories of the nightmares that were yet to haunt you, forget the deep blue eyes and the wandering barely perceptible smile you were destined never to see again, erase the feeling of safety and inspiration you were never meant to follow. You longed to escape. To disappear. To start all over again somewhere else. To become someone else. Word count: 18.2K Note: Some gifs are not mine, credit to the authors.

Series masterlist

***

For the past few months, Gotham citizens had been living their lives under the fear of a mysterious criminal who, through sophisticated psycho-control methods involving unidentified chemicals, had led to the deaths of twelve people and the suffering of at least another eight. Twenty people. You heard that right, twenty people fell victim to a madman who swore a vow to first do no harm. Can the people of Gotham finally live peacefully or is horror only about to come? This is Summer Gleeson, GCNN's news.

Doctor Jonathan Crane, head of the psychiatric ward at Eliot Memorial Hospital, has been identified as a criminal alias Scarecrow. Investigative reporter Vicky Vale is currently at the scene. Vicki, how dramatic is the situation?

The situation is truly horrific, Summer. I am currently outside the residential building where Doctor Jonathan Crane lived, and inside which the police have discovered a chemical laboratory, as well as eight more victims that Doctor Crane has been holding captive and torturing. Eight of Gotham's citizens, seven adults and a child had been imprisoned, subjected to physical and psychological torture, right in the center of one of Gotham's most secure neighborhood. The madman's victims were found in various physical states, ranging from mild to critical, which only suggests that Scarecrow had been committing these atrocities for a very long time. All victims are currently being transported to Gotham General Hospital. Among the victims was Matt Bower, known to police drug dealer working for mob boss Salvatore Maroni. Police and emergency services are currently working on securing the building to reduce the chemical hazard. Commissioner Gordon refused to comment, but we are all probably wondering what involvement Batman had in this discovery and where Scarecrow is now?

Thank you, Vicki. Where is Batman? And what connection does this gruesome discovery have to the late evening chase that ended with a shootout on the Metro-Narrows Bridge? Witnesses have reported that not only Batman but also his known associates, Nightwing and Red Hood, were involved. GCNN investigative reporter Jack Ryder is on the scene. Jack, how is the situation on the bridge?

Pretty typical for Gotham, Summer. Bridge is currently out of service and will be closed till midday as stated by the fire department. Scraps of a wrecked van, bullet shells, damaged pavement, nothing Gotham hasn't seen before. Three criminals, apprehended after a dramatic chase, were already handed over by Nightwing to the police, represented by Sergeant Rene Montoya, who declined to provide further explanation. Based on witness testimony, I was able to determine that the chase originated near Arkham Asylum and initially involved only Nightwing and Red Hood. Witnesses also informed that the criminals had a hostage, a woman, but her identity had not been established. Was the woman an accomplice or another victim? We will get to the truth. The people of Gotham deserve it.

Thank you, Jack. Despite the late night hours, we attempted to contact the Chief Executive Officer of Eliot Memorial Hospital who refused to comment. Shameful behavior in the light of current events. We do not know whether the Doctor's practices were known to him or not. However, we did receive a brief phone call from an Eliot Memorial Public Relations representative, who informed us that all ties between the hospital and Doctor Cran had been severed with immediate effect. But how much does this change in the eyes of ordinary residents?

Doctor Crane is the second medical expert in recent memory who, instead of protecting human lives as he swore to do, has chosen to cause harm. Most recently, Doctor Harleen Quinzel, a psychiatrist at Arkahm Asylum who is now widely known as Harley Quinn and associated with the Joker's criminal activities, is currently detained in the institution as a patient. She will face charges of attempted murder and armed assault. Unfortunately, Doctor Crane, or as we should be saying, Scarecrow is still at large. Was he involved in last Sunday's failed assault on the Gotham Medical Society? How long did his crimes go unnoticed? How long will it be before Batman manages to stop him?

"You shouldn't be watching this," Red Hood snatched the remote from your hand and turned off the TV, "enough of drama for one evening."

"Gotham's media works shockingly fast," you muttered then added quietly, "and I should, it's my fault."

"How is this any of your fault?"

You sat down heavily on the couch, threw the jacket off your shoulders, and accepted the glass of water he had handed you, quickly finding his way to the kitchen. Despite his commanding physique, two guns strapped to his belt, and face hidden under a red helmet and the hood, his presence filled you with a strange sense of safety. Still, within your apartment's four walls, the masked man somehow appeared incredibly surreal. You smiled amused, despite your weariness, as you watched him roam around your apartment.

"Something funny?" he glanced at you.

"I'd say make yourself comfortable, I'd offer you water or something hot to drink, but I don't think you'd take it," you scoffed, "can you even breathe under that helmet?"

"Outstandingly well!" he took off his jacket and removed his gauntlets, "you'll need something stronger than water." Not waiting for your permission, he once again headed to the kitchen and began looking through the cabinets and drawers. "You're not a tidy type, are you? I know someone who would get a heart attack seeing this mess."

"Relative tidiness. No one usually goes through my cabinets."

"There's always that first time," he sassed, "the first time to be caught in a shootout, the first time to be kidnapped, the first time to discover that your friend is a sociopath!"

"That's the second,"" you corrected him somberly.

"Damn, you're right! There is Harley Quinn! You don't have a good grasp on people, huh?"

"Thanks for reminding me."

"No problemo!"

"What are you looking for?" you followed him curiously as he went through cabinet after cabinet, and drawer after drawer.

"Your common sense," he quipped, "I was hoping you stored it somewhere."

"Very funny."

"But seriously, chill out. You're not the first and you won't be the last to get a knife between the ribs from so-called friends," he turned to you and although you couldn't see, you were convinced he was smiling under his helmet, "I need a clean towel."

"You're going to take a shower?" you put aside your glass to get up from the couch but your body refused to cooperate. The adrenaline that had kept you on high alert completely disappeared leaving you sore, drowsy and completely exhausted.

"Just tell me where," he placed his hand on your shoulder gently forcing you to sit back down.

"In the bedroom, in the dresser by the wall," you instructed, "right-hand cabinet, top shelf."

He nodded and disappeared into the bedroom only to return a moment later with two clean towels.

"Where do you keep booze?" he asked, folding one towel next to you.

"The cabinet next to the bookcase," you pointed to a corner of the living room, "you should find some whisky there."

"At least for alcohol you have good taste," he chuckled.

"It's not like I'm drinking a lot."

"You'll start."

"You sound like you want to tell me that shit like it's going to happen again!" you eyed him as he paced around your apartment collecting things one by one. A bottle of whiskey was placed on the table in front of you right next to a clean towel, followed a moment later by a clean glass which he filled with whisky.

"Somehow it's hard for me to imagine that you'll suddenly stop getting into shit, as you called it," he placed the sanitizer, lighter, needle, and thread in front of you, then returned to the kitchen, "trust me, I've seen it way too many times!" he chuckled as he rolled up his sleeves to wash his hands thoroughly.

"Stupidity?"

"That too," wiping his hands dry he returned to you, "but that's not what I meant. I was talking about that raging fire that burns in your eyes. Believe me, we've all seen it," he sat down beside you, "he's seen it too, more than once," he unfolded a towel on the table then placed a few cotton swabs on top of it and soak them in sanitizer. ""You blame yourself for what happened. You blame yourself for what happened to Quinn. You blame yourself for what Crane did to those people," he heated the threaded needle with a lighter then wiped it thoroughly with the cotton swab, "it won't leave you. It will haunt you and keep you up at night. It will feed that anger," he put down the needle, disinfected his hands and wiped the needle again, "anger at the world, at him, at yourself, at what happened to you, at the violence you experienced," he pointed to a glass of whiskey, "you will need this."

"I don't follow," fatigue slowed the mind, causing confusion.

"You have a fucking hole in your shoulder!" he pointed again to the glass, "drink up. It's gonna hurt like a bitch."

"Wow! Wow! Hold your horses mister!" you flung and moved away from him instantly, "it's just a small wound! It will heal on its own! There's no need to…"

"Shut up and let me patch you up!" he snapped at you, "you didn't want to go to the hospital then we'll take care of it my way! Damn, and here I was thinking that after tonight we have some trust between us."

"You said it yourself that I don't have a very good grasp on people."

"It's a little too late to change that," he snarled, "drink up and give me your arm."

"Have you done this before?"

"The charms of this job."

You downed the contents of the glass in one sip, closed your eyes, and stretched out your arm.

"Not so fast," he scoffed, "one more."

You did as he ordered. Ignoring the glass, you took a deep sip straight from the bottle, feeling the scorching liquid spread through your core. You took a deep breath, downed another and stretched out your arm again.

"Well, now that we've covered painkillers…" he knelt down in front of you and gripped your hand securely above the elbow immobilizing it. His strong hand steadied you painfully but the pain was nothing compared to the burning sensation of the sanitizer on the wound. You hissed in pain. "Hey, you took a cut you'll take the stitches," the feeling that he was smiling continued, "ready?"

"No," you took another swig from the bottle.

"Stay still," he ordered before piercing your skin with a needle. You cursed viciously but he only laughed. "You'll get used to it. But if it makes you feel better, I know someone who patches much better and much more gently."

"You couldn't take me to him?" you breathed through clenched teeth.

"Not this time," he quietly answered while pulling the thread across, "he'll come, you know that right? He'll come and he'll be fucking furious."

"Who? Jonathan?"

"I meant Batman but that one too," the needle pierced your skin again, "he's going to huff and growl. He'll probably tell you to leave town. Tell him to go fuck himself."

"I'm stupid but not that stupid," you snorted through the pain.

"He means well you know…" the pain in your arm faded despite him continuing to stitch, "I should tell you to let it go. That you should seriously, get out of Gotham and not look back. That you should fuck this godforsaken city and whatever is keeping you here. Or rather, whoever," he freed the end of the thread and placed the bloody needle back on the towel, "but I know you won't do that."

"You say this as if you know me."

"I know him and that's enough," he tied the knot and stood up, "he's an asshole and a self-righteous hypocrite but he means well. He will try to push you away. Something tells me you won't let him."

"I am so confused right now…"

"You'll get it. Eventually," he snatched the bottle from your hands and screwed the cork shut, "I'm taking this with me," he quipped before heading for the kitchen to wash the blood off his hands and put his gauntlets back on.

"Thanks," you muttered glancing at the stitching, "for everything."

"Burgers, remember?" he threw his jacket over his shoulders then reached into his belt pocket to pull out a small device to hand it to you, "do you know what it is?"

"A motion sensor…" you examined the tiny device closely.

"Yup! If you agree I'll install one at the door, one each at the windows and two at the balcony door. Batman was right. If they haven't caught him yet you'll be the first one Crane comes after," anxiety crept in, "each of us has the ability to remotely disable the sensor if needed. But if someone else tries to enter your apartment we will know. I'll also leave you this," he handed you a tiny switch, "should you want to leave. You can't be a prisoner in your own home. Although I wouldn't recommend wandering around the city as long as Crane is out there."

"Do it," you closed your hand over the switch, "you think he…" you didn't finish. A cold shiver shook your body at visions of what could happen.

"I think he'd be a fucking idiot if he tried, but we don't want to risk it."

You watched as this curious man roamed your apartment installing sensors. Red Hood, they called him. Adequate to his appearance which should make you frightened and yet did not. He was the only one among them who hid his entire face under a helmet. He was the only one among them who carried a gun at his side. He looked more like a criminal than a hero, and yet to you that's what he was. A hero. A man who risked his life to get you out of the trouble you had put yourself in.

"You carry a gun," you noted as he crouched down to install a sensor by the frame of the balcony door, "it's…. odd for a hero."

"Heh, I'm no hero," he chuckled dryly, "I carry guns cos they are damn effective! But rounds are nonlethal. Batman's rules."

"Hey, I'm not judging! Psychopaths and murderers, would it be a crime if the rounds were lethal? Cops have no problem with that."

"We're not cops," he walked over to the window in the living room, "and believe me, you don't want to bring this subject up in front of Batman." He installed the last sensor and returned to you. "All set. I gotta go. You'll be alright," Red Hood crouched down to level with you and the image of a keen gaze immediately popped into your mind. "After I leave you're going to be scared. For a while at least," he dropped the sarcasm while something familiar crept into his tone of voice, the empathy and compassion so reminiscent of Batman, "and that's alright. Everyone gets scared. Take it as an opportunity to fight that fear. As a chance to be brave," you listened in silence, "and do yourself a favor and get some sleep."

"I'll probably gonna sleep for two days," you smiled faintly, "thanks again. You say that you are no hero, but to me, this is exactly who you are. Hero."

"Damn! Just stop! You making me blush really hard under the helmet," sassiness returned.

"I'm serious!" you laughed as he got up, grabbed a bottle of whiskey, and headed toward the balcony.

"So am I!" he opened the door, "burgers! I'll hold you on that!" he stepped outside letting the icy air into the apartment.

"Hey! Red Hood!" you called out after him, "you saved me today. At least tell me your name."

Red Hood stopped just before the railing, holding a grappling gun in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other, turned and looked at you as if weighing his answer.

"I'll wait for him to tell you that," he answered finally then fired his grappling hook and soared into the air.

***

Tim and Damian knew that Batman had appeared on the Arkahm grounds. They heard the frightened whispers among guards, heard the taunting laughter between inmates once the information reached them, saw his signal displayed on the computer screens embedded in their gauntlets. His appearance was always followed by fear. It always stirred tension. Not only among those who had reason to fear him but also among those who worked alongside him. They expected him to appear at any moment, to emerge from the darkness, as it was in his habit, measuring them with a stern look and demanding an explanation. They expected him to call them in awaiting a report, demanding a detailed account of past events. Yet it did not happen. The certainty of him watching them from the shadows made them even more uneasy.

Tim lost the trail of Crane faster than he would have liked. For several long minutes, he followed him through the dark corridors of the Asylum, retracing his moves, tailing his footprints leading through Intensive Treatment, past the office that Strange used, down the corridors of the block to the Visitors Center entrance. The trail stopped. He hacked into Arkham's CCTV system and traced his escape route to the point where he rushed into his car and drove off into the night. He had his registration and the brand of his car. He could have followed him. He could have followed him to Gotham and tried to pick up his trail in the city's winding streets. Instead, he decided that at this point a chase was not the best course of action that he could take. Damian didn't need help, of that he was sure, and yet he should check on him. Nightwing and Red Hood were in the town while their comms were silent, a fact that bothered him deeply and formed another path he could take. Finally, the most important thing remained. Strange.

Weighing his choices, he ultimately determined that at this point the most important thing was to find the answer to the question why? With that in mind, he returned to the building to head straight for Hugo Strange's office. He did not expect to find anything evident there, but his detective instinct did not allow him to ignore the probability of discovering new leads. Even if the probability was slim. Ensuring that no one was around he picked the lock and stepped inside.

Stacks of papers, documents, and files perfectly sorted and buried in numerous drawers told him nothing more than what he had already suspected. Strange masked his operations effectively. To a cop or a regular detective, it would have been proof of his innocence, proof that he was an outstanding doctor who, as the transfer papers told him, had returned to Arkham to care for the most challenging patients. Among the records, he found psychological profiles of Two Face, Joker, Riddler, Mad Hatter, and Poison Ivy but also more unusual ones. "PM-X1, PM-X2, PM-X3," read the files of unidentified people as one by one he pulled out folders to study and scan the documents. Statements and reports he was unable to link to anyone he knew detailed the tests and results conducted on voluntary subjects. Vague, incomprehensible, written as if in cipher, ensuring complete anonymity and the inability to link them to him. "You're clever Strange, I'll give you that. But I'm genius here…" he tucked the scanned file away to reach for another. "Project Manticore… what is Project Manticore?"

"You should know that you won't find here anything that can be used against me, Robin," Strange stood in the doorway and measured Tim with a superior gaze.

"And you should know better than to come back here!" tucking the folder behind his belt he adopted a combative stance, "just give up Strange. We both know you're not a fighter."

"No need for violence boy. It's not like I'm gonna fight you. That would be utterly pointless."

"Let me guess, you gonna stall until your goons show up."

"My goons?" a mocking smile twisted his face, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Quit playing games Strange! We have them in custody!" he clenched his fists trying to control his emotions, "the back of the building is riddled with bullets that were aimed in our direction at your command!"

"Prove it," it sounded like a challenge Tim couldn't meet, "prove it. You have nothing boy. You are smart, I presume the smartest of them all. I'm assuming you've already managed to hack into Arkham's CCTV system while trailing Doctor Crane. And if you've already hacked into the CCTV, you must have discovered that the cameras at the back of the building as well as those in the corridors leading to the back exit don't work," he calmly and confidently revealed all the potential vulnerabilities he had long foreseen and eliminated, "you have nothing. Even the files, which are probably already on your computer drive somewhere, pose no threat to me. So why don't you politely give me the file you hid behind your back and in return, I'll tell you where you can find more evidence against Doctor Crane?"

"You talk too much."

The shadow behind Strange's back suddenly took shape as a glowed hand emerged from the void grabbing him and slamming his head against the wall. Strange's face twisted into a grimace of pain, but the groan that should have followed did not come out of his throat. Instead, a malicious grin crept up his face again.

"Where were you taking her?" Batman asked in a chilling voice emerging from the darkness.

"Ah, Batman… I should have guessed that birds don't fly on their own."

"Where were you taking her?" Batman repeated the question with emphasis while pressing his face harder against the wall. The glasses on his nose cracked.

"Do you really think you're going to get the answer to that question out of me with violence? Batman. Emotions cloud your judgment. So unlike you."

Tim stood stunned watching as Batman bared his teeth in rage and, grabbing Strange by the halves of his lab coat, lifted him off his feet to slam him against the desk. The wood shattered into pieces as he lunged and, pressing him to the ground with his boot, growled again.

"Give me something Strange before I send you back to Black Gate!"

"On what charges?" he coughed when Batman's boot pressed harder on his throat.

"The list is long…" he snarled menacingly, "Cadmus, Strange. Talk! Waller assured the Justice League and the President of the United States that the project was closed definitively after the first trials!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Detective," Strange dismissed stubbornly evoking even more anger from Batman. He grabbed him again by his coat and slammed him violently against the wall only to repeat it again.

"I am not playing your games, Strange," he gruffed dealing a punch to his stomach, "talk or they will send you to Black Gate in pieces!" his fist crashed savagely into his face as drops of blood stained Strange's coat, "you tortured her!" another blow shattered the glasses on his nose, "you tortured others like her!" Strange spat blood as Batman's fist hit his ribs painfully, "talk!"

"Batman!" Tim jumped to him catching his arm and preventing him from dealing another blow, "that's enough!" he looked into his enraged eyes, "not like this."

"You can't touch me, Batman," Strange groaned, "no amount of brute force can make me talk and you know it. Just as you know that you have absolutely no proof except the words of a woman who can so easily be dismissed and declared insane. Pitty, to what madness Doctor Crane can drive a person."

Tim tensed his muscles but Batman was stronger. With one sharp pull, he yanked his arm out of Tim's grip and, clenching his fist, delivered another punch. The wall next to Strange's face crumbled. Chunks of concrete scattered all over the ground.

"Next time it will be your face," it was a promise, "stay away from her."

On the other side of the ward, in the darkness of the long-unused corridors, Damian was finishing up his crackdown on Strange's thugs, those who, in a glimpse of sanity, had decided to escape. "Fools," he scoffed stalking from hiding the last terrified man cowering silently through the darkened corridor, "you think you will hide? From me?" His cawl read his accelerated heartbeat, over 120 beats per minute pumping adrenaline through his body. His eyes read his every faintest twitch, every rapid movement of his head, every drop of sweat running down his terrified face. Part of him immensely enjoyed the little game he played with them. He was better, smarter, more cunning, superior in every possible sense. They were hardly prey who, out of fear, tried to flee to the shadows and hide in the darkness. But he knew the Shadows, he was raised by them, shaped by them, the Shadows served him.

"Not so brave when you're not hiding behind a machine gun…" he quipped, eyeing the man's reaction. He jumped up spooked raising his fists to his face defensively.

"You're not Batman!" he shouted into space, "show yourself you fucking psycho!"

"Awh, big talk, that's cute…" he swooped over his head silently, holding onto the ventilation shafts hanging from the ceiling.

"I'm not gonna go to prison! Fuck no!"

"Behind the bars of a Gotham County cell, you won't be so snarky."

"He made me do it!"

"They always do…" situated just above his head he prepared to jump, "tell me why? What did Strange want from that woman."

"How the fuck would I know?!"

"Wrong answer."

"I'm just a gun for hire! Come on man! Tell your boss that I run away!"

"He is not my boss…" he growled through clenched teeth, "what is Strange doing here?"

"I don't know!"

"Wrong answer again," he could have taken him down at any time but he enjoyed it too much. He reached into the pocket of his belt and pulled out a birdarang, "all your associates are down. You are going down too." He threw the birdarang straight at the man's feet.

"Where are you!?" the man shouted in fear, "Where are you!?"

"Here…" a low voice emerged from space, followed by a blow, and the hollow sound of collapsing body. The shadows betrayed him. The shadows did not belong to him but to his father who embraced them long ago. Batman stepped out of the dark and, without even looking in his direction, said, "You were playing with him. You could have eliminated him three minutes and seventeen seconds ago."

"It's called intimidation techniques, Father. Something you should know very well," he snarled, jumping off the vent and landing next to Tim. Tension hung in the air between them.

"Report," Batman ordered standing over them and glaring menacingly.

"In the driveway in the back ten thugs. Unconscious, disarmed, restrained, ready for transport. Two more in the eastern part of Intensive Treatment, four at the entrance to Holding Cells, one in the restroom in the west corridor, and this one here," Damian reported.

"Crane got away," Tim began, "I hacked into the CCTV system after I lost track of him at the main gate. He took his car and drove off. Given that we know his registration, where he lives as well as his office and workplace locations I decided that trailing him was pointless at this point and chose to investigate Strange. He is a much bigger threat."

"Not exactly."

"What aren't you telling us?"

"Crane is the murderer we've been looking for," Batman began, "he won't go home because his house is currently being secured by Gordon and his men. He won't go to one of his offices or the hospital because he knows we're monitoring them. If he doesn't attack again tonight he will hide somewhere, wait and strike again. But this time it won't be a stealth attack."

"I should go after him…" Tim clenched his jaw suppressing his anger, "I decided, I decided that…"

"You made the best possible decision based on the information you had," he interrupted him, "we'll talk about it at home. Both of you, you are dismissed. Go home."

"You are not going with us?" Damian asked.

"No. I have one more thing to do."

You stood on the balcony calmly smoking a cigarette, watching his shape fade into the distance as the dreadful meaning of his words began to creep in. A slowly increasing fear seemed to be looking at you with green venomous eyes from every dark corner of the surrounding city. He was there. You knew it. You could feel it. He was watching you. He was furious. But so were you. The soreness and weariness of your body, the mental exhaustion, the heavy eyelids, and the numbness of your muscles could not subdue the rage you felt. "I've seen monsters. You're not one of them. You are their victim." Batman's words echoed in your mind.

"Victim…"

"The accomplice or another victim…"

"His victim…"

You closed the balcony door with a slam and made sure the sensor was on. You crossed the apartment checking each window and making sure the red light was steady. You turned the bottom lock on the front door and, just to be sure, inserted the key into the top one, turned it, and left the key inside. You were tired. So very tired. The weight of the past day's events was slowly beginning to settle in depriving you of that little bit of strength that kept you on your feet, pushing into your mind thoughts and feelings you didn't want to face. Not yet.

You stripped off your clothes, all of them, from your underwear to your skirt and blouse, but instead of throwing them in the laundry basket you folded them into a garbage bag, then another as if trying to hide your shame and disgust, and threw them in the trash. You needed a shower. A long shower that you didn't plan to get out of for many minutes. Maybe even hours. You needed to wash away the nightmare you had experienced. Needed to wash away his toxins. To wash away him. Tears ran into your eyes but you swallowed them. You couldn't fall apart, not yet.

Before you headed for the shower you lit another cigarette and sat down in front of the computer. You needed to endure for a little longer, you needed to do one more pressing thing before your mind completely crumbles under the weight of your emotions. The light of the screen blinded you, hurt your tired eyes but also brought a much-needed brief awakening. You inhaled the smoke deeply, opened the WORD document and, with a heavy heart and strong determination, tapped out a few important words.

"This is the right thing to do…" you tried to console yourself however the heartache was weighing down. "The right decision…" you inhaled again, opened the email, typed in the recipient, added the attachment and, with a heavy exhale, clicked send. "Now I can fall apart."

You didn't cry. The pain of the decision you made was nothing compared to the overwhelming feeling of helplessness gripping your body and mind. A numbness shutting out your sense to the surrounding safety of your own home, binding you in a cage of your own thoughts. The softness of the carpet under your bare feet did not bring a feeling of comfort as you headed through the bedroom to the bathroom with a dragging step. The warm light of the wall lamps did not bring a smile when you faced your own reflection in the mirror. A bloody wound on your arm covered with three black stitches was the only trace of comfort remaining on your body. "It's funny how a wound can bring comfort," you scoffed somberly while sweeping your eyes over your naked body. "What have I done…" you ran your hands over the traces of your mistakes. The red marks around your breasts were painful to touch, the scratches on your arm barely visible formed a path to the redness on your neck that slowly began taking on hues of purple, yellow, and green, the sad face and dark circles under your eyes revealed complete exhaustion, a nervous breakdown lurked behind them. You raised your hand toward your face to brush away your falling hair and paused to stare at the dried blood on your palm. You touched the wound but it didn't hurt. Not as much as the imprints of his hand on your neck. Not as much as the breaking pain in the back of your head. You looked your reflection in the eyes. "Is that what I wanted?" you searched for the answer within yourself, "is that what I deserve?" tears came to your eyes, "what now?"

You wanted to close your eyes and disappear. Disappear forever. Push away the thoughts of the nightmare that was yet to come, dismiss the memories of the nightmares that were yet to haunt you, forget the deep blue eyes and the wandering barely perceptible smile you were destined never to see again, erase the feeling of safety and inspiration you were never meant to follow. You longed to escape. To disappear. To start all over again somewhere else. To become someone else.

"The past has a habit of following us wherever we go…"

His words invaded your mind, concealing all the glaring pain with a thick shadow, and even though they seemed sad to you at the time now they brought a strange sense of solace. There was no way out. Escape was not a solution. You couldn't. Part of you knew that the only path you could take was through fear and horror, through anger and pain, toward a hopeful future. You couldn't turn back. You had to find the strength within yourself.

You let the warm water run down your body, wash away the cares and worries, hide the tears that began to flow down your cheeks, to take away the weaknesses and fears that tried to take over you.

"Fear, if you let it, can be a paralyzing force, can be the thing that sabotages your every move, your every plan. But if you take control of it, it can become one of the strongest forces driving your actions. It's all a matter of choice."

You stepped into the shower whole and, slowly changing the temperature to cold, watched as the remnants of blood flowed from the cut on your arm, from the wound on your hand, from the cut on the back of your head, running down the drain along with all your despair. Your body trembled under the icy stream but you clenched your teeth feeling as the pain gave way to determination.

"Take it as an opportunity to fight that fear. As a chance to be brave."

You clenched your fists breathing deeply. Trembling from the cold, you closed your eyes and sank deep within yourself, searching for the strength that lay dormant. Looking for that spark that guided your steps, that energy that seemed to bend reality to your will. It was there. Weak and stifled. Barely shimmering under the weight of reality. You reached for it.

"It always comes down to the choices we make. Do we let it control us, or do we control it."

You breathed deeply. Tears stopped streaming down your cheeks. The stinging feeling in your heart disappeared. You felt no pain nor cold. Blue sparks danced faintly over your arms and everything that was painful disappeared. All that remained was an unshakeable determination, a burning anger, a hope that perhaps a path through the nightmare would lead you toward a better future. Toward something good.

Bruce cursed under his breath upon seeing the parted curtains and their complete absence in some of the windows, promising himself that the day will come when he will bring it to her attention. Although he knew that the height of her floor provided a measure of privacy he felt that she should be more careful. He looked away when she dropped the towel, waiting longer than necessary to return his eyes to her windows. The light in her bedroom was still on when, wrapped tightly in a warm fluffy sweater, she opened the window to let the cigarette smoke outside. Wet hair fell over her face but she seemed not to care. She leaned against the sill and closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. From afar he could see the exhaustion on her face and the sadness in her eyes, a sight that burdened his heart. He longed so badly to go to her. He wished so much to take her in his arms and hug her, to take away her sadness and pain, to make her feel calm and safe, to cradle her in his arms until she fell asleep. He couldn't.

"It's all my fault…" the painful realization struck him again, "I should have told her. I should have stopped her. I should have protected her…" She looked in his direction, and even though the distance separating them made it impossible for a moment he was sure she was looking straight at him, that she could see through the darkness and fog and was gazing straight into his eyes. The illusion of her frail smile played on his imagination.

"I want to believe that in this vicious rotten world there are still people who care about the well being of others."

The memory of their first meeting still lingered vividly in his memory. Completely random, two strangers in a big city, and yet at that moment neither of them realized how close they were to each other. Her effortless charm, genuine smile, and the sparkle in her eye captivated him. Her brightness shattered his darkness, and although he didn't allow the thought at the time, at that moment she took possession of his heart.

For months he denied himself acknowledgment of this feeling and yet it was there, guiding his actions, with each passing day bringing him closer to her. No matter if by day or under cover of the night, he felt connected to her. Like two souls lost in the ocean of life who finally found their way to each other. A way from which he had to turn back. There was no place for love in his life. The burden of his life would destroy it. He longed for it but knew he couldn't have it.

He zoomed in on her face, watching as she raised her head towards the night sky and sighed heavily. The burden of the past day was dragging her down. The weight of everything she had experienced, everything she had seen, everything he had discovered. The memory of Crane's apartment crushed his heart as he angrily clenched his hands into fists. "I should have protected her…"

"Life is like poker you know! Sometimes a hand is dealt poorly and you have to wait it out. And sometimes you just go all in! We don't get to choose how we start in this life. Real greatness is what you do with the hand you're dealt."

The memory of her smile and the spark in her eye once again shattered the darkness that lingered over his thoughts. She didn't know it, but that day for the first time in a very long time he felt close to someone. Unknowingly, she wove with her words the silver thread that connected the two of them. Every day she drew him closer to her and he didn't try to stay away. "I should have..." Silver tears ran down her cheeks and she didn't even try to wipe them away. In her eyes he saw determination and strength to face the painful reality. So courageous. So naively idealistic. She reminded him so much of himself just a few years ago when life seemed simpler and the mission had not yet left its mark on him.

Mission. His dedication and the sacrifice he had chosen to make years ago. His whole life.

"Let's be open with each other. No secrets."

If only it was that simple. Even though the mission had become his life years ago, and all his attention and dedication was focused on fulfilling it there was a part of him that wanted it badly. Faint and repressed, barely breaking through all the regime he had imposed on himself but it was there. It surfaced sometimes when together with Damian he watched movies, when along with Tim he discussed the latest technological trends, when alongside Dick he worked on repairing equipment and modifications to the vehicles while discussing his friend's problems, every time Jason showed up at the mansion. That fleeting sense of ordinariness when, in Alfred's company, he sometimes opened a book to read to the accompaniment of classical music. Yes, in those moments he was himself, in those moments he was just Bruce. If only she knew how many moments like these he experienced in her company. If only she knew how many times he felt just Bruce when she was close to him. If only he could tell her how much he treasured those moments, how much they meant to him. If only he could tell her the truth.

She closed the window, turned off the lights, and, burying herself in the black sheets, she closed her eyes. He knew she would not be sleeping peacefully that night. He suspected that the nightmare would wake her once or twice in a cold sweat with her heart pounding in terror. His heart was aching to go there, knock on her window, take off his mask, kiss her, embrace her, and stay with her until the dawn of day. "She'll be better off without me. I won't ruin her life…" he sighed heavily suppressing the feelings inside him allowing cold logic to take over.

"I'm not a good person, Batman…"

She was wrong. She was so very wrong. It was he who was not a good person. "I condemned four lives for this fate. I will not condemn her as well."

He jumped off the roof and soared into the night.

On the other side of the city, below the rich mansion built on a hill, the night was slowly drawing to a close with each safe return. Alfred observed with a wary eye the boys' behavior, listened to their conversations, assessed situations, and drew conclusions. The most important thing for him was that they all returned uninjured, unharmed, and in relatively good spirits. No matter how many nights he stayed awake awaiting their return, no matter how many times he saw how highly trained they were, his heart always fluttered at the thought that any of them could get hurt. Too many times he had seen them on the brink of death.

The first to return were Damian and Tim. Their hung faces and focused gazes told him a lot and the conversation only added to the facts.

"I should follow him…" Tim repeated to Damian, "I should know better."

"Father should tell us everything, provide all the facts and details instead of withholding them from us!"

"Bruce is always hiding something from us."

"If we knew everything the situation would have turned out very differently. Don't make a martyr of yourself, Drake. It's beneath you."

"Alfred!" Tim turned to him putting down his equipment on the big workbench, removing his mask, and unfastening his cape, "if I could ask you for a strong coffee and some carbs. Work for tonight is not finished."

"Are you going to track him?" Damian threw in a surprised question, "I'm sure he's not going out of town. He has a reason to stay here and carry out the plans Father thwarted for him today."

"That's precisely why I need to find him before he attacks again!" he took off his gauntlets and sat down in front of the computer, "we know the registration of his car, we have his facial recognition, we know all the locations he has gone to in the past. With the help of the city's surveillance cameras and by using the triangulation of our satellites, I can still find him today and stop him before he strikes again."

"Timothy, he's only human. And the whole city already knows what he did. He'll hole up somewhere and wait out the first storm before he makes another move."

"All the more reason to find him now."

"Master Timothy, I understand that the conversation is about Doctor Crane," Alfred began calmly, "given the evening's news I take it that Master Bruce's assumptions were correct and that unfortunately, Doctor Crane managed to escape."

"He did not manage, Alfred," Tim corrected him quietly, "I let it happen."

"Master Timothy, I'm sure we'll find him in no time but I insist on a decent meal and an adequate amount of sleep. The past night was intense enough for all of you."

"I'm fine Alfred, we are all fine…" Tim wasn't listening as he activated the tracking system and entered the data into the computer.

"A few thugs with machine guns, hardly a challenge!" Damian added smugly yet Alfred could clearly see the fatigue on the boy's face.

"I insist."

"I need a few extra hours…" Tim ignored his pleas. Taking control of the city's surveillance systems and synchronizing them with the satellite he set the target, "and coffee."

Before Alfred had a chance to issue another argument the cave filled with the growling sounds of motorcycle engines. Nightwing drove in front and Batman followed closely behind. They parked and, without exchanging a word, walked through the cave to approach the same table and remove the equipment. It didn't take Alfred more than a few seconds to assess state of their minds. Bruce was furious while Richard, by contrast, seemed restless to break the uncomfortable silence.

"Jason?" Bruce asked noticing his absence.

"Master Jason has not returned to the cave," Alfred replied.

"Maybe he's still with Y/N?" Dick suggested.

"He isn't. I've been there," he cursed quietly which he didn't usually do in their presence, "call him up," he ordered to Dick.

"Maybe you should…"

"Just do it!"

"Listen, man, I get that you're pissed and all but…" Dick snapped meeting his stern gaze, "I'll call him up."

"I've set the CCTV cameras to search for Crane's car registration and for facial recognition," Tim didn't hesitate to inform him of the steps he had taken, "I've synchronized it with our satellites and set the scan field to Gotham, Bludhaven and Metropolis. We'll find him before he makes his next move."

"Well done Tim."

"I'm also uploading to the computer scans of the files I managed to find in Strange's office," he continued, "and then there's this," he handed him a folder labeled Project Manticore.

"Let's hope letting Crane go is worth it," Damian glanced at the caption, "Project Manticore…" he mused, "a hybrid, a chimera, a legendary creature being a fusion of a lion, a dragon, a bat, and a scorpion."

"Deadly and stealthy…" Tim continued.

"A weapon," Dick added walking up to them, "Jason will be here soon," he informed feeling Bruce's stern gaze on him, "first Cadmus, now this. Bruce this is getting bigger by the minute."

"What is Cadmus?" Damian asked curiously.

"Something that to Justice Leauge's knowledge should not exist," Bruce muttered flipping through the files.

"Father, I think in light of tonight's events we would all appreciate more transparency on your part," Bruce's menacing stare did not work this time. They were right, and they knew it.

"Cadmus was a secret government project designed to counter and control the expanding power and numbers of metahumans in the world," Dick began the explanation, "using highly developed technology and with the help of scientists of questionable reputation, they conducted research and experiments in order to create an army of metahumans in the service of the government."

"The practices and intentions of those involved in the project were extremely unethical, bordering on criminal activity. Some joined the project voluntarily when a well-timed persuasion was applied to others," Bruce continued, "the good and safety of humanity was just a fancy slogan they used to cover up the drive for power and the arms race in the form of superhumans. Justice League led to its closure and complete dismantling."

"Apparently not," Damian scoffed.

"Strange's attempt to extort Y/N now makes total sense and explains the complete lack of any trace of her for roughly four years," Dick began to connect the facts out loud, "no records of where she worked, no home address, no activity on social media, not even a credit card transactions! They must have been holding her somewhere! The question is how she got free. Did she escape or is she a manticore? If Cadmus has resumed their activities we must…" The words caught in his throat as the sudden realization of his own carelessness struck him. Bruce's cold gaze rested on him while his stone face masked the rage boiling beneath the surface. "Bruce listen…"

"Jason assured that none of you knew about the files," he growled through clenched teeth.

"Fine, I knew! Jason lied!" he sighed in exasperation, "you can get angry if you want!"

"I knew too…" Tim added quietly.

"We all knew. Big deal," Damian huffed.

"I clearly told you that I do not wish…"

"Okay man, stop! Just stop! Yeah, you told us and so what! That's what we're trained to do! That's what you trained us to do!"

"She jumped in front of a gun and made Jason fly with the power of her mind," Tim recalled their first meeting.

"Father, surely you weren't expecting us to stay away when you were getting increasingly involved. She's not exactly an ordinary dame."

"We only did what you should have done a long time ago! But since you decided to be a stubborn ass…." the growl of an approaching motorcycle drowned out his words, "we only did this because you refused."

"We needed to be sure that she is one of the good guys. Especially since she kept getting herself into all kinds of troubles."

"A coincidence that should have long ago aroused your suspicions, Father."

"We couldn't just let go and let you…"

"It's called privacy."

"You gotta be kidding me!" Dick couldn't hide his frustration, "she ain't just some chick that you are hanging with to keep up the appearance! Dude! I saw you two! Half of Gotham's elite saw you!"

"And we all interacted with her," Tim remained calm while trying to reach Bruce with logic, "after the incident at the Amusement Mile, she stopped being the woman who caught Bruce Wayne's attention and became the person of interest for Robins, Nightwing and Red Hood."

"Not to mention the Joker and, as it turns out, the new supervillain, Scarecrow," Dick continued, "you have no right to be angry with us."

"I have no right?" the illusive composure faded into an increasingly gravely voice, "I have no right?"

"Father…"

"You went behind my back despite my clear order. You violated my privacy. You've carried out an investigation which I did not want to do due to my personal reasons," the muscles of his shoulders twitched in tension as he approached Dick, "has it occurred to you that maybe I didn't want to know? That if I had cared to find out everything about her in advance then I would have checked it out myself?"

"Imagine that it did! That's why we didn't tell you anything about it until today!"

"Bruce, it was a right thing to do," Tim kept reasoning, "I'm sure some part of you knows that."

"First you follow her despite my direct order. You get Damian and Tim ivolved," Bruce aimed a furious stare at Dick, "and now this. And you have the nerve to tell me that I have no right to be angry?"

"So what now? Are we grounded or something?" Jason sneered joining them, "for fuck sake, man! Listen to yourself! We're all telling you that we did what you trained us to do, that we did the only right thing that could be done, that fuck, I don't know, maybe we wanted to make sure that you stubborn, all-knowing, self-righteous ass won't get hurt and that we won't get hurt in the process! That maybe we do give a fuck!"

"Master Jason…" Alfred tried to calm him down.

"Nah, I'm sorry Al but he gotta hear this!" Jason was boiling, "you always know best, huh? You're always right and your reason is always the most valid! You give orders and expect us to follow them like good little soldiers! Newsflash asshole! Some of us are fucking adults and the fact that we are here is our fucking choice!" he stood between him and Dick and pointed his fingers at his chest, "you insisted that you wouldn't do a background check on her and man, I get that, I totally do! Good for you and all! But you have no fucking right to be all pissed!" Bruce remained silent clenching his jaw in rage, "if we had listened to you your girl would have been long taken away to fuck knows where! If we had listened to you we wouldn't know shit about Cadmus! If we had listened to you we wouldn't know that Hugo fucking Strange is back in Gotham! If we listened to you we would have jack fucking squat! So why don't you pull your head out of your ass for a change and admit you made a mistake! 'Cause thank you would probably burn your throat out," he huffed heavily while Dick's hand placed on his chest held him back.

"Jason is right Bruce," anger blazed in their eyes and the last thing Tim wanted was for them to start exchanging blows, "you should tell us everything. This wasn't just your personal case. This is a case that concerns all of us and which you have made personal." He got up from the computer and walked over to them focusing Bruce's angry gaze on himself, "you taught us how to be a team and despite your best efforts we are a team."

"A team that worked extremely well despite the fact that the leader chose to keep it in the dark," Damian joined them standing next to Jason, "I'm sorry Father but you failed. Out of all of us, it shouldn't be Todd giving me the talk on how to be part of the team only you," despite the visible tension Bruce's gaze softened, "but don't worry. Even without you, we did just fine. Grayson is an outstanding leader on the battlefield."

"We've got Scarecrow on the loose, Strange and Cadmus to investigate, and whatever Project Manticore is," Tim continued calmly, "we'll all be working on it whether you want us to or not."

"Don't forget Luthor's investigation in Metropolis," Damian threw in and, upon seeing the surprise on his face, added, "Kent has super-hearing. Honestly, Father, you shouldn't be surprised."

"You heard them," Jason growled relaxing a bit, "stop bitching and start working with us instead of against us."

Bruce remained silent for a moment. Sitting down heavily in his chair, he looked at all of them closely and at each of them individually. For most of the day confronted with his mistakes, all day analyzing every wrong step he had taken in the past days and even weeks at this moment he could not help but feel pride. So different from each other and yet so similar. They had been through so much together, so much had divided them and yet they chose to stay together. As a team. As a family. Perhaps one of the few things he did right in his life was to bring them together.

"Hey, don't rush it, man! Let it sink in!" Jason snarled, "I have almost a full bottle of fine single malt in my trunk! You with me Wing?" he turned to his brother.

"Damn, and just like that you talked me into it!" Dick smirked, "let's get changed and head out."

"You're right…" Bruce finally spoke, "you're all right. I'm sorry."

"Wing, hold me I'm having a heart attack!"

"I don't know when but Y/N…" he stopped his words, "I care about her and yes, I took this matter personally. I focused on myself and let my feelings overshadow the greater picture."

"Emmm, B? You sure you're feeling alright?" Dick quipped helplessly trying to disguise the amusement appearing on his face.

"It's not just about your commitment. You made the right decision, and I thank you for that…" he rested his elbows on his knees and hung his head but the boys only came closer like curious children awaiting a good story.

"Go on! Don't stop yourself," Jason grinned, "tell us how badly you fucked up."

"Badly," he scoffed, "I fucked up badly."

"Let's guess," Dick wasn't about to give him the chance to back away, "you wanted to do things your way, at the same time trying to fight off the obvious feelings you have for her…"

"Explaining to yourself that the mission is everything and that you need to stay away…" Jason continued.

"Justifying your own behavior with the need to protect her…" Tim threw in.

"Yet simultaneously doing absolutely nothing to stop her from delving into our world," Damian pointed out.

"And thus falling deeper and deeper into the loop of your own lies, so contrary to your intentions…"Alfred remarked quietly, standing next to him and leaning against the computer.

"And now everything that happened today is your fault," Dick concluded, "from whatever you discovered in the Crane apartment to everything that happened in Arkahm."

"And of course you blame yourself for it, cos that's what you always do."

"That pretty much sums it up…" he sighed heavily, "now she is in danger because of me."

"Bullshit!" Jason sneered, "dude we all know how much you love to mope and suffer but she is not in dager because of you! She did this all by herself!"

"Besides, there are four of us against Carne!" Damian quipped with a smug, "at least until Mother finds out. Perhaps she won't kill her when she finds out that you brought a woman into the house."

"Damian!!!" all four exclaimed simultaneously.

"What! All I'm saying is nothing but known facts and an expected sequence of events! Aren't we all thinking that?"

"No one is talking about bringing her home, son. Nevertheless, that doesn't change the reality that her involvement in the Cadmus case as well as the fact that she is the most likely Scarecrow's next target makes her our priority. My priority."

"Oh here we go again!" Dick rolled his eyes, "Bruce! For the love of god!"

"She's not gonna stay away. She's hell'a stubborn just like you, man."

"She will need our help. Perhaps help of Justice Leauge," Tim reasoned, "even if you want to, which we all know you don't, you can't just stay away from her. You can't just leave a meta-human alone without oversight."

"Simply put, you are fucked!" Jason snarled, "so stop with all the bullshit excuses which lead us all to this place and fucking talk to her! If she has any sense left she'll tell you to go fuck yourself but hey, at least you could try."

"You should tell her the truth, Bruce," Dick encouraged gently, "the whole truth."

"That's gonna be a disaster," Damian scoffed.

"But we're all okay with it," Tim assured and the others nodded, "it's the right thing to do."

"Master Bruce, I'm afraid that boys are right," Alfred spoke up, "if you think about her as seriously as we think you do you should tell her the truth. And if not, you should stop deceiving the woman and meddling in her life. Socializing publicly with you does not go unnoticed."

"Boys, I appreciate but…"

"Just sleep on it!" Dick interrupted him, "let it sink in and sleep on it."

"I have to check on her."

"She's fine," Jason cut him off, "she's numbed herself with a few deep ones and I patched her up. Surely she'll have a nasty scar but she'll be fine. I installed motion sensors at the windows and doors."

"You did all that?"

"She allowed me! So you can go to sleep. No one will enter her house and if the sensors get turned on we will know."

"Thank you, Jason."

"Just doing my job."

"See!!! Teamwork!" Dick gushed grinning, "TEAM-WORK! We discovered the killer's identity, saved seven innocent victims, discovered Strange's involvement and saved an foolish idealist from serious trouble! TEAM-WORK!!!"

"You did a great job. I'm proud of you boys."

"Well fuck me…"

"Teamwork?"

"No more keeping us in the dark, Bruce."

"Your transparency will save us a lot of work, Father."

"I will do better," a frail smile affected Bruce's face, "you have my word."

"Damn, enough of these feelings! I'm starting to feel uncomfortable," Jason snapped as he grabbed his jacket to head out, "you with me Dickie-bird? I think our job is done here."

"Jason, stay for the night," Bruce stopped him, "this is your home too."

"Now you're just making things awkawrd on purpouse."

"Your bedroom is always ready for you Master Jason."

"Damn you guys… I'll stay if Dick stays."

"I won't let you finish that single malt alone little-wing," Dick smirked.

"No loud music at night, gentlemen."

"You got it, Al!"

"And no hangovers at the brekfast table!

"Yes, Alfred!"

"And no…"

"Sure thing, Al!"

***

A deep gloomy night descended over Gotham. The lights had long since faded from the surrounding buildings, leaving the city illuminated only by street lamps and the shining glow of the full moon. Gotham seemed to spread its veil of stillness and serenity but it did not reach you, it did not soothe your nerves into sleep. Interrupted sleep brought no rest. Haunting images pulled you back to lonely reality time and again, with a racing heartbeat and cold sweat. The pack of cigarettes grew emptier with each heavy sigh and each quiet curse. A faint tears running down your cheeks seemed to chase after the lonely raindrops trickling down the window panes as you got up once again to gaze at the moon. "Are you there?" you wondered, "are you watching me?" you asked.

In silence your thoughts seemed to scream louder, in the dark your fears seemed to stare at you from every corner of your home, at night you couldn't find solace. Letting slowly smoke out, you regretted that you allowed him to take that bottle of whiskey with him. "He knew what he was doing," you scoffed sourly to settle for a glass of water and return to bed. Behind closed eyes, you could see a clear picture of all your mistakes and when sleep finally came you could feel them all over again.

The white light once again blinded you hurting your eyes. The chill of the sterile surroundings brought a shiver to your skin while the sight of countless closed doors filled you with doubt.

"I see curiosity is eating you up," the man walking in front of you noted. He wasn't tall but his posture seemed to fill the room. His prying eyes glanced at you over his glasses but betrayed no emotion. His perfectly balanced words reflected a high intelligence that left you feeling small. "Soon the entire compound will become your new home and all these doors will be open to you. But first, we must clear the formalities."

He led you through a wide, empty corridor toward a small office, and once the door closed, he took a seat behind the desk and pointed to the seat opposite him.

"Professor, I was told that the facility is designed to develop and discover abilities in people…" hesitated, "that are gifted."

"Meta-humans is the proper term to describe someone like you. You'll learn everything, but first the paperwork," he reached into a drawer and pulled out a file of documents, "a few signatures, declarations and you'll be part of the program."

"I'd like to know exactly what the program is before I sign anything," you set the pen aside and flipped through the thick folder.

"I'm afraid I won't be able to reveal the details until you have signed the declaration of will," there was something unpleasant about him, something that made your skin crawl, "you must understand that the program is highly classified."

"What if I won't sign?"

"You will sign," he smiled tinctively, "after all, no one forced you to come here. Curiosity won't let you leave now."

You picked up a pen and pressed it against the first page only to stop for a moment and leave a single black dot.

"It says here that I waive the right to adjudicate my own will…" you uttered, "this is illegal. I'm sorry, but I can't sign this."

"Don't you want to discover your abilities?"

"I want to but…"

"Don't you want to find out what you can actually do?"

"Of course I want to but it doesn't feel right."

"Don't you want to know if you could save them if you only knew how?"

"I do…"

"Then sign."

You pressed the pen to the paper again but a trembling hand objected. They knew. How did they know? You were a nobody, and yet they knew. You dragged the line and gasped in shock. The black ink spread across the paper covered the entire page, spread across the desk, over the chairs, over the floor to reach the walls and cover the white underneath the implacable black. You jumped away from the table frightened, knocking over a chair that seemed to disappear silently under the black surface. It surrounded you on all sides and only the professor's face, twisted in a sinister smirk, seemed to be staring at you in a frozen expression.

"You remember…" from the darkness came a low deep voice piercing the void, "you keep coming back to the same memories," distant but close, coming from every direction and yet seeming to be right next to you.

"I know you…" you whispered into the void.

"Yes, we have met before."

"Morpheus…" you uttered silently as his name felt familiar and strange to you equally, "your name is Morpheus. And I'm not supposed to know that."

"For the convenience of this meeting, you shall know it. Just as you shall know me," the blackness parted revealing a statuesque man of skin as fair as marble and eyes as deep as depths of the endless starry abyss of the darkest night.

"It's a dream…"

"It is. Yet it is also a memory. A memory that you try to conjure in dreams but you can't."

"You can control it…"

"I can," he moved closer to you as if drifting carried by the darkness itself.

"You control all dreams and nightmares…" you uttered yet your lips did not move. The stars in his eyes glowed pale, "why do I know this?"

"Because I allowed it."

"Are you a god?"

"No."

"Who are you then?"

"The concept of my existence will not be conceivable to you at this moment," his lips moved but his voice seemed to echo out of the abyss beyond time and space, "I am no threat to you."

"Why are you here?"

"You need help Y/N Y/L/N," the breath of the universe swept coldly over your skin, "you keep coming back to the same dreams, the same memories, that you cannot escape from. You can't move past them. I find you here every night. Every night your memories create a new nightmare. This needs to stop."

"If you control the dreams why do you let it happen?"

"I am here now, am I not?" the endless black of his eyes deepened, "I have stepped into your dream once again and chose to reveal my presence to you."

"Will you stop the nightmares?"

"No."

"Then why…"

"Be quiet," he interrupted you sternly, "you must understand the exceptional nature of this moment. Decades passed since the last time I resolved to interfere with a mortal's dream. Yet my siblings ensure that your desires are pure, for most of the time at least," the marble face seemed to brighten in a barely discernible smile.

"Are there more like you?"

"Is that the question you want to ask?"

"I guess not…" the galaxies in his eyes mesmerized, "why me? Why are you helping me?"

"I get curious when a magic user emerges in the mortal world," the stars glimmered intensely.

"Say what?" your lips moved but no words came out. Yet he seemed to hear your thoughts.

"You are not a meta-human Y/N, not in the way humans understand it. You are something else. But you already know that. You have always known it. Your mind tries desperately to remember but it can't." Slowly he moved his eyes toward the professor while the stars in his eyes dimmed. "These humans. They have wronged you. They hurt your body, soul and mind. They have taken your intentions and perverted them to suit their needs. They violated your will. Your memories are full of pain and suffering."

"Will you show them to me?"

"I could send you all the memories at once if I only chose to. I will not do that. It would be pointless. Your mind would surely collapse under their weight," out of the midst of the darkness he reached out a marble slender hand towards you, "Instead, I offer to guide you through them. I can help you remember."

Although your hand trembled you reached out to grasp his. The blackness around you faded away. Golden grains of sand appeared as if out of nowhere enclosing you, dancing and swirling around you, blurring the image, lifting you above the nonexistent ground to spread into nothingness a moment later and reveal a new image, a new dream, a long-forgotten memory.

It felt as if the memories in your head blended together just like the colors of unsorted laundry carelessly thrown into the washing machine. The past far and near clashed together to create a new distorted reality. The space around you appeared white and sterile again, like the one from your horrific memories, but at the same time obscured and dimmed much like one of the rooms in Arkham. There was no blinding white light, no heavy metal doors, no machines, no cables, tubes or monitors. Only a vertical bed with wide safety straps so reminiscent of the one in Crane's lab, only a single metal frame with a narrow beam of light aimed straight at it.

"I don't remember this place…" you said silently as the darkness around you formed a shape revealing his figure, "I don't remember this."

"You do remember. After all, we are in your memories," he replied softly.

"You created this?"

"I merely took what you had hidden deep at the bottom of your consciousness and brought it to the surface," he explained, gazing not at you but into the space in front, "this memory, this dream, were particularly difficult to retrieve. They ensured that you would not remember it."

"Who did?"

As if in answer to your question, the door to the room opened letting in a sliver of light that disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Professor Strange, assisted by two stout, strong men, stood a short distance from you and fixed his displeased eyes on you.

"I should have known there would be trouble with you," he clicked his tongue, "but the intrigue of your abilities doesn't allow me to simply write you off," he came close enough for you to smell the starch on his apron, "your insubordination, your defiance of orders, your deliberate sabotage of your training, and your stubbornness. Why do you resist when you saw for yourself the consequences of such behavior?"

He waited for the answer you should have given but couldn't. Your mind could not recall the event while your body seemed to remember all too well. Your muscles tensed as if in anticipation of the pain that was about to come. Your heart sped up as if in premature response to the distress you were about to experience. The headache attacked without warning piercing your head, cracking it, penetrating every thought and memory, shattering them into the thousands of pieces you were so desperately trying to put together.

"Big mouth and snarky words won't do you any good," he mocked, "we have ways to control the likes of you."

You looked at Morpheus horrified as two men came up to you and grabbed you painfully, one by your shoulders to lift you off the ground and the other by your ankles. You called out to him but he only watched everything with a marble emotionless face, only the stars in his eyes seemed to dim in sorrow.

"Make it stop!" you shouted to him as they pressed you to the bed, "I beg you! Make it stop!" you cried as they twisted your wrists to strap them down, as they grabbed your ankles to steady them, "Morpheus please…" you stifled as they forced a rubber guard into your mouth while fastening the last strap over your forehead.

"Insubordination we can correct, painfully," Strange smiled wryly, "how long you suffer depends only on you," he moved the metal frame closer directing it straight at you and activated the switch.

Your body shook in convulsions as the red laser entered your pupil piercing into your brain. Muscles contracted rapidly, bending your limbs at an unnatural angle. Breath caught in your lungs for a moment only to escape with a desperate panting. A cold sweat coated your skin soaking your clothes, blending with the warm trickle that ran down your leg. Red was penetrating through your wide open eyes, burning holes in your brain, distorting your consciousness. It was erasing your identity, turning everything that was yours into a blur. One by one, thoughts disappeared from your mind, feelings got erased leaving you hollow, leaving you numb. Anger, rage, frustration, will to fight, fear disappeared one by one devoured by the red. You felt nothing. You thought nothing. Only the brightly electrifying energy continued to simmer in you trying to protect the essence of your being.

The pale full moon light crept into Bruce's bedroom chasing away sleep bringing with it the chill of reflection and analysis. For few long minutes he laid with his hands under his head staring at the sky outside the window as if waiting for a signal to brighten in the sky, waiting for the needed distraction, for a way to escape his own thoughts. But the signal did not light up. "I wonder if she is asleep…"

For a moment he considered getting up and returning to the cave, to plunge into work, work out, to drown out his thoughts with the sound of punches, to turn emotions into the strain of muscles and tendons and the rush of doubts into a cool sweat on his body. Clear the mind if only for a moment. "Pointless…"

He got up from the bed, reached for his laptop, plugged in the flash drive he had taken from the cave earlier and hesitated. For so long he had resisted the information he could have at his fingertips. For so long he had fought off the temptation to learn everything he could about her. He wanted to savor every moment with her, to discover her, to learn her, to get to know her, as normal people do. He enjoyed it. For the first time in a long time, he felt truly good. She brought a smile to his face in the most effortless way. He wished he could preserve this moment. He wished for the illusion of normality to last.

"Delusion… naive desires…" he opened the file folder once again confronting himself with his mistakes. "There is nothing normal about me or her. We are far from normal. I was a fool…" reaching agreement with himself, he dragged his finger over the first folder and opened the file. Her entire life unfolded before his eyes.

School. Family. Friends. Retained in a few words and pictures found in the government institutions' records. Date and place of birth, age, height, hair color, eye color, parents' names, birthmarks. An ordinary girl from a small town, with an ordinary life, a good life. "She was born in Europe…" he paused at the information, "then moved to Bludhaven when she was only a child. She never mentioned Bludhaven. Why?" He trailed his eyes over the story of her life. "She was hospitalized, twice…" he opened the hospital records, "a broken leg and arm the first time," the image of her climbing trees entered his mind, "and neurological problems the second…" he frowned seeing the date on the file, "she was so young." Minimizing the file littered with medical details, he returned to her story. Elementary school, high school, college, first job at a far too young age. "Computer sales…" he chuckled quietly seeing her picture in a blue polo with a company logo. She looked like a sweet, innocent girl to whom nothing bad could ever happen. He opened another folder filled with photos. Mountain trips with her parents, her first bicycle, an adorable biscuit golden puppy that surely brought her a lot of joy made him smile fondly. Graduation, her first boyfriend, the academic year inauguration, concerts, parties, her first martens and leather jacket, "rebellious," he scoffed amused. Each photo depicted her happy and smiling, full of joy and passion for life which he continued to see in her eyes despite the passage of years. "What happened then?" he clicked through a few more photos, screenshots from social networks when in love she posted heartfelt lyrics, photos where she smiled joyfully in her boyfriend's embrace, posts where she uploaded clips of Linking Park and Thirty Seconds to Mars in anger. As the years passed, darkness crept into her life but she seemed to retain her smile, especially in those moments when Harleen accompanied her. "How did you get here…" his nature and curiosity took over as he closed away the years of her youth to display her adult life. Happiness seemed to vanish as she stepped into adulthood. Maturity reached her too soon. "She fell in love again…moved out from home before she turned nineteen… moved away…" he swiped through not so distant facts, "traveled the world, worked abroad, got engaged…" he frowned pausing at the photo. One look was enough for him to know everything. She loved him dearly, he loved only himself. "Why did you end up with someone like that?" he moved through the records of her life and smiled involuntarily seeing how short the engagement lasted. She returned to Bludhaven, resumed work, bought a new car and "…suddenly disappeared…" he mused over the fragmented story. "What happened?"

High walls surrounded the compound on all sides obscuring the greenery where twelve young people trained fiercely in the brightness of the morning sun. Men and women, all dressed in military style sweatpants and gray T-shirts, divided in pairs punched, kicked, flipped and knocked each other to the ground.

"In combat, you cannot rely only on your supernatural abilities!" a tall, muscular man with thick but snow-white hair roamed the field peering at them with a sharp eye, "your abilities are your weakness! Your abilities are your disadvantage! The first thing your opponent will use against you!"

The blows fell one after another, brutal, painful, aimed deliberately and precisely, drawing blood and marking bruises, twisting joints and straining muscles. But they kept fighting. Someone grabbed his partner's arm hard, bent it in an unnatural direction breaking the bone with a snap. A cry echoed through the walls.

"Hesitation means death! Death is a mercy given to the weak and useless! You are meant to be strong! Better! We don't train you to fight! We train you to kill!"

You watched everything as a movie projected in front of your eyes. Faces contorted from pain, blood stained shirts, sore bodies and despair in the eyes of those who were praying for death.

"Attack to inflict pain!"

The bones in your body creaked opening long-forgotten injuries, wept in forgotten pain.

"Block to maintain the advantage!"

The pain pierced your muscles like a memory hidden beneath the surface of your skin.

"Strike to kill!"

A shudder ran through your body, convulsions twisted your insides as if trying to fight off the poison that seemed to consume you entirely.

"He trained us…" you whispered, "he was merciless."

The sun illuminating the greenery beneath your feet dimmed as the shadow surrounded you with a warm, soft veil.

"They wanted to make us into weapons…"

"I know," Morpheus spoke softly in an eerily human voice, "I was there. In every dream and every nightmare you have dreamt while being here."

"They promised help and guidance but instead tried to use us, weponized us against those they deemed a threat…"

"The pages of human history have been marked by many like them."

Someone broke under pressure allowing his emotions to take control of his body. Applying superhuman strength, he struck his opponent breaking his neck in the snap.

"No powers!"

"Apologies, sir," the man leaned his head as he put his hands behind the back to stand at attention, "it took over me."

"I have no interest in your apology," with a heavy slow step he approached the terrified man, "you are a soldier. Soldiers follow orders. If you are incapable of following orders you will be useless in the field." In one swift motion, he drew a narrow long sword from behind his back. The steel flashed in the sunlight. Blood gushed widely staining the green beneath their feet. The man fell inertly to the ground.

"No one touches him! Back to training!"

The blackness swirled around you while the golden particles danced as if carried by a nonexistent wind.

"Are you ready to move on?" Morpheus asked while watching your furious gaze.

"Yes, please."

"She disappeared…just like that she disappeared…" Bruce leaned back in his chair and stared at the computer screen. "No one disappears overnight." He opened the files again and carefully traced the events of her adult years convinced that he had missed a detail. He had not. The few clicks and fractions of a second required to run his computer's systems were enough to fill his mind with countless questions. "Jason left something out…" He typed her name into the system, combined it with facial recognition, and personal information to momentarily display endless information about her. All aligned with the ones on the flash drive, all merely confirming and duplicating facts he already knew. "Something is missing…"

A part of him didn't want to dig deeper, but it was too late to back out. It was in his nature to investigate, to find the truth, to look for the smallest, least significant details, to see things that others could not see, to piece together the tiniest facts into a previously unknown truth. He could not back down now.

With a few clicks he changed the scope of the search, typing in the names and details of her parents only to freeze in stillness once the computer displayed the results. His heart ached with pain but his mind understood.

The gold dust settled, the blackness thinned to reveal an environment so familiar to you, one that you so desperately didn't want to remember. The brown wallpaper on the walls you had long planned to replace, the brown rug under your feet that should have been vacuumed days ago, the warmth of the yellow ceiling light that could not hide the surrounding decay. You were home. A purple cashmere sweater hung on a hanger just as it always did. Funny pink slippers were placed at the entrance in the same place they always did. A pleasant scent of apples and cinnamon lingered in the air, barely covering the foul odor of sweat, sourness, and death that wafted through.

"I don't want to be here…" you whispered in a trembling voice as tears came to your eyes, "please…" you looked into his endless eyes but his sombre face remained unmoved, "please take me away from here."

"I will not do that," he replied in a stern but warm voice, "this is where it all started. This is where you need to be."

"I can't, I don't want to…" tears slipped down your face, "don't make me."

"I would not force you even if my power allows it," compassion reached from the depths of the universe, "there is nothing wrong with being afraid. There is nothing more human than to be afraid. You tried to control your fear, you tried to get rid of it. You have allowed him to exploit that," he extended an open hand to you, "the time has come for you to face your fear."

You took his hand and allowed yourself to be led down a narrow hallway toward a darkened bedroom. You wanted to close your eyes and not see death standing by the side of the bed. You wanted to close your heart and not feel the pain tearing your soul into a million pieces meant never to become whole again. You wanted to close your ears and not hear the weak voice you would never hear again. You wanted to run away but his cold, steady hand kept you close.

"Y/N?" your legs buckled under you at the sound of the forlorn voice. Your throat tightened painfully straining breath in your lungs, forcing tears into your eyes but you only exhaled deeply and forced a smile.

"Hey, Mom," you let go of his hand and walked over to the bed, "how are you feeling? Have you slept at all?"

"I'm better," she lied. Eyes veiled with fog, a tired face, and a limp body disappearing into the folds of the sheets betrayed more than you wished.

"Mom…" placing a hand to her forehead, you brushed away her sweat-damp hair. She was cold. So very cold, "I'll make you some tea. And I'll open the window for a moment, it's terribly stuffy in here."

"How was work?" she asked, continuing the game of pretend.

"As always, all good," you pushed aside a bowl filled with black and yellow liquid, "did you eat anything?"

"I can't stomach the food…"

"Mom you have to eat. You take morphine, you can't take it on an empty stomach."

"I can't eat…" she said weakly, " I vomit everything I eat."

You took her cold hand feeling as painful realization tried to extinguish hope. Hope that everything will be fine, hope that the next operation will fix everything, that you will travel over the sea next summer.

"Don't worry my star," she smiled faintly, "this will pass."

"I know Mom," you sighed heavily forcing a smile, "they just have to cut out that fucking tumor. I'm sure it's pressing on your stomach and that's why you can't eat. They'll cut it out and everything will be fine."

"Exactly," she wanted so badly to believe it, and yet something seemed to hide behind her eyes, "I need you to pack my bag and call an ambulance," she had never asked before.

"Something's wrong?" your heart leaped to your throat.

"I feel that I shouldn't have been discharged from the hospital. At least at the hospital, they would give me an IV."

"You're right. At least your body will strengthen before the operation. Wednesday isn't far away," you helped her up and held her steady making sure she would not lose her balance, "we need to change your pajamas."

"I don't think I'll be able to stand up," once strong and full of life she now seemed frail and weak, "call an ambulance. Get my papers ready. You can drop my bag off later."

"Got it!"

Even though it was only a memory you played your part just as intently as you did on that day, feeling everything just as strongly as before. Panic when she couldn't stand on her feet, worry when logic took over from false hope, determination when you gathered her things and helped her get dressed, composure when the paramedics helped her sit in the wheelchair and carry her out of the house for the last time.

"You'll see, they'll patch you up and you'll be dancing again," you smiled as you hugged her one last time.

"Drive home carefully," she uttered her last words of concern letting go of your hand and disappearing inside the ambulance.

You stood in the middle of the street for a moment watching the ambulance drive away. At the time, you still believed your words. At that moment, you rejected the possibility that it might end differently. Full of belief and hope, unaware of the nightmare that was about to come just two days later.

"I never saw her again…" you wanted to cry but couldn't. Locking your emotions deep inside you, you chose numbness. "She didn't get to live to have surgery. Two days later, at five-thirty in the morning, she died."

"People despair when Death comes for them, comes for their loved ones," Morpheus spoke softly, "They fear the Sunless Lands. They deny Death. I have always found it strange. It is as natural to die as it is to be born and yet some seem never to accept this fact."

"Death leaves scars that never heal," you countered, "it leaves a void that we desperately try to fill. We wonder if we could have done something more if we could have prevented it somehow."

"There was nothing you could have done."

"You're wrong," you glared at him angrily, "if only I had known how! If at that moment, I had known, understood my abilities! Maybe I could have saved her! Maybe I could have healed her! Maybe she would still be here!"

"It was her time."

"Fuck that! She was too young! She was supposed to be with me until old age! She was supposed to be with me when I would get married! When I would have children!" anger burned in you igniting your blood, "she should have been here!! But I was afraid! I was afraid of my abilities! I was afraid of the fact that I was different! I didn't understand! I tried to suppress it inside me! If only I wasn't afraid! Maybe she would still be here!!!"

"Your mother got what everyone gets. A lifetime."

A quiet knock at the door pulled Bruce out of his deep thought. For a moment he wondered if he had misheard. The night was deep, everyone in the house should already be asleep or at least pretending. But the knocking repeated itself. He didn't want to answer it. He regretted staying home instead of leaving for the city. He needed this moment to himself, he needed to think, he needed to be alone with his emotions and nothing was more conducive to thinking than the lights of Gotham scattered in the darkness of night like millions of stars in a black sky.

"I know you're awake," Dick's quiet voice came from behind the door, "I saw the lights on in your windows. May I come in?"

"You may," he replied reluctantly, convinced that even if he hadn't answered and given permission he would have barged into his bedroom anyway. Dick had no hesitation to invade his personal space. He didn't even manage to turn off the laptop screen and he was already closing the door behind him. Dressed in loose sweatpants and an old Gotham University t-shirt, he minced barefoot across the soft carpet and, if it weren't for his height, imposing build and two whiskey glasses in his right hand, he would have looked just like the kid whose years ago crept into his bedroom when he couldn't sleep.

"I thought you might need this," he smirked innocently placing the glass in front of him.

"You know I don't drink."

"A glass of good single malt to calm the mind never hurt anyone," he glanced involuntarily at the computer screen, "you read it."

"I did," Bruce pushed the glass aside and locked the screen before adding in a serious tone, "your investigation was incomplete."

"Oh, it was complete, trust me. We simply decided not to include certain details," Dick replied observing him closely, "you wanna talk?"

"No."

"You sure? Cos you kinda look like you do," he smirked.

"How's Jason?" a quick change of subject seemed at this point to be at best a failed attempt to slip out of an uncomfortable situation.

"He's asleep. Drinking more than half a bottle by yourself after an intense night of ass kicking and car chasing will do that to you."

"You got him drunk pretending that you're drinking," Bruce glanced at him with amusement in his eyes.

"Indeed I did!" he grinned, "he needed this more than I did. And pretending to drink after years of observing how you do it was way to easy."

"I'm glad he stayed the night."

"I'm glad you asked him to."

"He should move back in."

"You should ask him."

"I should."

"Maybe that's not the only thing you should do, If you know what I mean." Silence fell as their eyes met again. Bruce was struggling, Dick could see that clearly. Unused to talking about feelings, he needed it so much and at the same time shied away from it so much. Without a word, he grabbed a glass and, crossing the lavish bedroom, sat down in one of the large, comfortable armchairs, waiting for Dick to join him.

"Maybe I should…" he sighed as Dick sat down on the bed opposite him, crossed his legs and took a small sip from his glass. Despite having a quarter century behind him, he still looked uncomfortable drinking alcohol in his company.

"Take your time, we still have a few hours before dawn," he smirked.

Turning the amber liquid in his glass, Bruce merely stared at the moon outside the window silently informing him that he would rather be in the city right now, would rather chase villains through the dirty streets of Gotham, would rather glide between buildings, sit on the roof and listen for trouble than have to confront his own feelings.

"It won't light up, you are stuck with me," he quipped forcing his attention back to him.

"Am I that obvious?"

"To me, yeah you kinda are."

"I don't know what to do…" Bruce finally said fixing his gaze on him, "for the first time in a very long time I truly don't know what to do," he sighed heavily while warming the golden liquid in his hand then hesitantly took a tiny sip closing his eyes, "I fucking don't know what to do."

"You care about her."

"I do."

"And you are so in love with her."

"Love is just a brain chemistry. A mixture of norepinephrine, dopamine and…"

"Bruce, seriously? I swear if I keep rolling my eyes like this I'll totally get to see the back of my skull!" he snarled then added gently, "come on. Let's be real for a moment. I've seen you two together. Even you can't hide your feelings that well."

"My feelings for her don't matter," he sighed while his tired eyes grew dark, "and I know what you're going to say. I've heard you before. But what happened today is my fault. I should have stayed away from her but I didn't. I should have warned her, protected her, but I didn't. And it is because of me that she got hurt."

"A few scuffs and bruises, she'll be fine…" he paused seeing the expression of pain on his face, "Bruce, what happened earlier? What did you find in Crane's apartment?"

A moment of silence preceded the answer. A moment of long silence that screamed a thousand unspoken words and concealed emotions. A silence that Bruce needed and Dick was willing to give him. A silence of quiet understanding. A moment of support.

"He hurt her," Bruce finally said, as he set his glass down on the coffee table to stand up and walk to the window, "He violated her. Perhaps at first with her consent, her willingness, it had to be..." he trailed off recalling the scene, "but the fact is that in his apartment's air, I discovered chemicals sufficient to rid her of boundaries and alter her behavior." The recurring images caused him pain but he needed this moment of honesty. Dick was the only one he could talk to about it, the only one he could really open up to, the only one who really understood him. "I think they got close before Crane discovered the transmitter I gave her, before he became violent. I found a dent in the wall and traces of blood on the floor…"

"Bruce, you can't put this on yourself. I know it's personal but still, she made her own choices."

"I knew something was wrong about him. I suspected him for a long time. I knew they were close. She told me that," anger tinged his voice, "I should have prevented her from being alone with him. Instead, I drove them both to his house! To the house where he tormented people! To the house where he hurt her! I drove them and left them there!" he looked at Dick with anger burning in his eyes, "you want to know why?" Dick remained silent, "because I chose to do so. Because I deemed that her friendship with him was my best chance to find out the truth. To expose him! Because I chose to use her relationship with him to solve this case."

"I understand that you blame yourself, but…"

"I don't blame myself. I despise myself. I will never forgive myself for this."

"It wasn't you who put her in danger!"

"But I didn't do anything to stop her."

"Your presence in her life changes nothing. The situation with Crane would have turned out exactly the same if you hadn't been there. Probably much sooner. And it would have ended much worse."

"That doesn't justify the decisions I made."

"Bruce, you're only human. We all make mistakes."

"I made a cold calculation, I made a decision that led to her harm. This is not a mistake. These are consequences."

"And now what, you're going to distance yourself from her or push her away like you usually do?"

He remained silent.

"The situation is different. You can't ignore the fact that she's meta."

"She's not," Bruce denied immediately.

"She's not?

"I verified that theory when we were in Metropolis. Or rather, Clark verified it. Her abilities are most likely magical."

"Damnn!" Dick gasped, "well that's an even bigger problem. With metas we have some experience but we have never trained magic users."

"And we won't."

"You're right. We are definitely not equipped for that. Good thing we know at least three, maybe four people who are more qualified for the task than we are. Zatanna would be the best here, although Constantine has an advantage over her due to his wide range of abilities, but I know there's no way in hell you'd ask him for help. Doctor Fate is definitely the most powerful but he doesn't seem like a people person to me."

"We won't train her, period. Neither we nor anyone else.

"You can't be serious, Bruce!"

"I am."

"No, you're not! You're just a stubborn dumbass who can't deal with his own feelings!"

"Why does she keep getting into trouble…" he sighed as if to himself, "why can't she just let it go?"

The gold particles swirled and fell around you for the last time revealing a void in nowhere, a vast and infinite blackness in which the sky and the ground seemed to melt into one. You couldn't feel the ground under your feet, yet you stood firm. You didn't feel the wind blowing, yet your hair waved around your face. You couldn't see the sky above your head, yet the stars seemed to spread against it, shining as brightly as the ones in his eyes when he appeared right in front of you and gazed into your soul.

"Now you know everything. Now you know the truth," he spoke in a deep, low voice.

"I don't know whether I should be happy or sit down and cry…"

"This is what you wanted, is it not? This is what you desired."

"And now that I have it I don't know what to do."

"What you do depends only on you. Your feelings are yours, as are your memories and experiences that have been taken from you and now are yours again. Your decisions, whichever you make, will also be yours. So will their consequences."

"If that was supposed to comfort me then it failed," you scoffed.

"I am not here to comfort you Y/N. That is neither my function nor my role," the black of his eyes deepened, "still, you should find comfort in the fact that there are people in the Waking World who care about you. You are not alone as you seem to think."

"You know who he is don't you?" you asked certain that there was no need to say his name.

"I know."

"You've seen his dreams."

"He doesn't dream like ordinary people dream every night. His mind is highly trained to avoid distractions as he sees dreams. But, yes. I have seen his dreams, rare as they are."

"Who is he?" the question snapped out.

"That is not my truth to tell," a shadow of a smirk ran over his marble face, "trust yourself. Trust your instincts as you have trusted them so far, especially now. Now that your consciousness is free from corrupting influences."

"Trust yourself…" you repeated under your breath, "how can I trust myself when I have no idea what to do!"

"You do know. You simply have not understood it just yet," the depth of the universe seemed to see into the future, "when you wake up, you will know."

"Will I remember you this time?"

"I don't think you will."

"Why not?"

"Because your future must be in your hands. Yet I can assure you, we will see each other again." With a wave of his hand, the dream faded away and disappeared.

You opened your eyes abruptly, welcoming the full moon's cool glow peeking through your bedroom window once again. You knew what to do.

Dick walked over to Bruce to hand him the glass of amber liquid again, which he accepted gratefully. Lost in his thoughts, he took a small sip and gazed back at the full moon in the cloudless sky.

"You thought about telling her the truth," he stated with certainty.

"It crossed my mind."

"Why don't you do it then? Think how differently today might have turned out if only she knew the truth!"

"I won't bring her into this life."

"Knowing the truth, she would know the risks and how to react in a threatening situation! She would know what to do! Hell, even without it, she acted instinctively. The transmitter hidden in her arm was a bit insane but an impressive solution you gotta admit that!"

"There is nothing impressive about putting yourself in danger for the sake of satisfying some senseless need to do the right thing," he growled angrily.

"That didn't just come out of your mouth," Dick scoffed.

"It's different and you know it."

"How is that any different!"

"I was an angry kid balancing on the verge of a mental breakdown who desperately needed to find a purpose in life! You were the broken kid whose world came crashing down and who needed care and guidance to not end up like me! Jason, Tim, Damian…"

"You are failing to make a point."

"We were all angry kids who needed to turn their grief and anger into something meaningful."

"And she is an angry adult who has had her will and identity taken away and who needs to turn her pain and trauma into something meaningful…" Dick interrupted him harshly before adding gently, "age doesn't matter here."

"I won't do that. I won't do that to her…" turning his gaze away from Dick he gazed wearily at the sky, "she deserves better."

"Bruce, for someone of your level of intelligence you are behaving like a complete idiot!" it was high time to abandon gentleness and strike directly, "she doesn't need your say so, she doesn't need your guidance to find the way to achieve her goals. The fact that she joined Cadmus is the best proof of that!"

"We don't know that."

"Bruce!"

"Fine. We know that."

"She'll find out the truth sooner or later, and it would be better if she learned it from you."

"Perhaps she won't," he so adamantly refused to accept the facts, "maybe today's situation will make her turn back from this path. She will choose a normal life."

"You really believe that?"

"That would be better for her."

"Sorry but that decision isn't yours," frustration slowly rose in Dick, "just as it wasn't your decision that I created the mantle of Robin, just as it wasn't your decision that Jason would adopt it, it wasn't your decision that Tim found us. Those decisions were ours, not yours!"

"I should never have allowed that to happen."

"You should have understood long ago what kind of impact we have on people, what kind of impact you have on people. How you inspire those around you."

"I have condemned your lives."

"You gave us purpose, strength, inspiration, the will to fight! You gave us hope…" Dick grabbed him by the arm and looked at him like a son looks at his father, "it seems you are thinking that you have failed us, but you are wrong. Each of us would be lost without you. We are here because of you. I am here because of you. My life crashed and fell apart before my eyes, but you gave me a new one. You gave me a purpose, a home, a family."

"Dick I…" his voice broke.

"Bruce…each of us had our own reason for getting into this life. And yes, we were kids but you seem to forget how many of our friends started out as adults. Ollie, Dinah, John, Barry even Uncle Clark. They were all adults when they decided to take on their secret identities. It seems to me that she is on a straight path to the same thing. The question is whether you will be there to help her and guide her as you have guided many before her. Not just us."

"She's already asked me that…" he sighed.

"She did?"

"Last night, just before shootout in Bristol," he explained, "just like today she dropped that she wants to come with me. She said she wants to help. That she could do more. That I could teach her how."

"What are you wating for then? You found a woman who wants to be part of your life. Your whole life."

"It's not that simple…"

"It is very simple Bruce. You are just making this so fucking complicated with your misguided sense of morality. She's a good woman, honest and kind with a clear desire to do good. She's obviously into you and she is obviously drawn to Batman. What's so difficult about that?" he blocked the window forcing Bruce to look at him. "Some perverted idea in your head, a flawed perception of love makes you think that you can't be happy. That Batman can't be happy. That the mission precludes that possibility. But Bruce, you're not thirty anymore. You have surrounded yourself with family and friends who day by day are proving to you that it is possible. So if they can be happy why can't you?"

"I guess…" he hesitated, "I guess I am scared," he finished quietly. "I guess I am simply scared."

"Hey, remember what you used to say to us when Jason was a kid?" a bright smile spread over Dick's face. "It's okay to be scared. Everyone gets scared. Take it as an opportunity to fight that fear. As a chance to be brave."

A single tear glistened in Bruce's eyes as the pain on his face faded away overtaken by Dick's kindness. Perhaps he had not failed after all. Perhaps there was still a hope for him to have it all. He reached out and pulled Dick in a strong hug.

"Thank you my son. I needed this."

***

~~TBC~~

~~***~~ Author note: Phew! It's good to have this one finished, way too much angst am I right? But it was needed. A lot happened prior to that. We needed that moment of feels and emotions and struggles and all the angst in the world. I was hoping that I would get to the point in this chapter but as you see that did not happen. And I'm glad cos it would be twice as long. And I'll admit, it was really hard to write and even harder to edit. After eight years of working half-night shifts I switched my role at my company and suddenly I'm working regular nine to five. Let me tell you, my body is in shock and my sleep pattern is all over the place! But I am very happy with the change! Just gotta align my writing with my new reality, no more writing in the night. I'm starting to write the next chapter right away cos I know exactly what will happen. For now, I thank you for reading my Dear Reader and till the next time.

~~***~~ Tag list: @mrsgrahamsdesign @theclassicvinyldragon @blondwhowrites @batgirlspain @hangmanscoming @julesjewelss36 @cherryflavoredcoke @grandstrangerphantom @maripositanoctruna @pluckastarfromthesky @butterfly-lies-chase-them-away @pirate-with-internet-connection @ooldcardigan @amandarobertsboyce

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