Batman opened his eyes to horror.
He screamed and tried to banish the images, but this was no simple nightmare. This was real. He couldn't remember how he'd gotten here, in this vacant part of the Batcave, but the strong smell of bat guano and mildew hinted that Alfred had never ventured here to clean. But he hardly paid any attention to the stench, because he wasn't alone in the dark.
Nightwing reached him first, his face gaunt over his skull, and his flat eyes sunken deep under his mask. His once-lushious hair had rotted to thin clumps, and when he stretched out his fingers, Batman saw that they were nothing but skin and bones. Batman flinched away as Nightwing's fingers touched his cheek, too cold, too thin.
"Br-r-r-r-u-u-u-ce…" came the scratchy voice, and the pain in that one spoken word wrenched at Batman's heart. He retreated from the shell of his eldest son, back into the guano that coated the walls of the cave.
Then something hit him in the side, hard. He fell to one knee as he tried to recover his breath. What struck him? Nightwing had already faded away. He peered into the shadows, but even with the night vision in the cowl, he saw nothing but rocks and bats staring at him from the recesses in the ceiling above.
A gunshot rang through the passages. Pain in his gut. He looked down to see that a bullet had found its way between his armored suit. He pressed a hand to keep the blood from seeping out too quickly, but he hissed from the pain. He panted, knowing what came next…
The Red Hood dropped down in front of him, tilting his head in a taunting manner, just out of reach. "What's the matter, old man?" the rogue vigilante spat. "Did you finally figure out we aren't immortal? Took you long enough. Too late for us, amiright?"
"Jason," Batman managed to say under his breath. "Why-?"
Red Hood tugged at his helmet. Batman didn't want to look, didn't want to see, but he found that he couldn't look away…
Jason's face was gone, nothing but an empty skeleton. He dropped the helmet on the stone floor, and held up a gun to his own bone-white skull. "Because we're already fricking dead inside, old man…"
"No!" Batman reached out in an attempt to stop him, but Jason pulled the trigger. His entire body crumbled to dust right before Batman's horrified eyes.
Batman couldn't see. He couldn't breathe. He was going to drown if he didn't escape this horrible vision. Because it couldn't be real. Jason was alive. Dick wasn't dead. Both survived, somehow, in some universe, even if it wasn't this one. As confused as he was at the moment, he held onto that promise with all his heart. He tugged off the cowl, bent over and wept.
A soft touch on his shoulder roused him. He looked up to see Red Robin standing beside him, silent as the grave, a pained look on his too-pale face.
Bruce straightened. He hadn't heard the teenager approach. "Tim?"
Tim only shook his head and pointed into the darkness ahead.
Cass was slumped against the far wall, her eyes staring into nothingness, covered in blood. Bruce sucked in a sharp gasp. She mouthed something, but Bruce heard no sound. He crawled closer to her. "Cassie," he whispered. "Cass, are you there?" He reached her and smoothed away the hair from her bloodied face.
"Dead," she murmured. "Dead inside." At last her blank stare shifted up to meet Bruce's concerned gaze. She lifted a shaking hand and touched his chest, right on the bat symbol. "Dying." Her eyes fluttered closed.
Bruce, helpless, hugged her body close. Tim watched silently, accusingly. Bruce tried to ignore the other forms of his fears, waiting in the shadows behind Tim. Barbara, dragging herself along the stone floor by her hands. Stephanie, a deranged look in her once-bright eyes, blood streaking her blond hair. Alfred, gaunt and wasting away to skin and bones.
He screamed again, all the horror and anger and guilt wrapped up into one wordless cry of agony. All the shadows converged on him, and the darkness was so deep and tangible that it hurt to breathe.
When he could see again, what he saw made him wish the darkness would take him. "Please, no, enough!" he yelled to whatever god might be listening. "Anything but this!"
Damian was dead.
Bruce had seen it happen, had been too late to stop the sword from piercing his youngest's heart on that horrible day. The anguish of seeing Dick crumpled over the small body was still fresh in his memory. And yet… Damian stood before him, a gaping hole in his chest where the sword had stabbed him.
"Father," he said stiffly. His face was shadowed, so Bruce couldn't read his expression.
"No," Bruce said. "You're not real. You're dead."
Damian looked up, and Bruce saw the fury, the hunger, the insanity there in his face. Damian hated him for letting him die, for not being there when he needed his father most. No, this wasn't Damian. This was a monster that Bruce created when he let his son die.
Damian drew his katana and faced Bruce. "Yes," he said at last. "I'm dead. Just like you always wanted."
"No," Bruce said. "I don't want this. I never wanted any of you to die!"
"You made us chase impossible levels of justice, and we all died in pursuit of that goal." Damain swung his sword in a practiced arc, nearly slicing Batman's cape.
Bruce growled and rolled to the side. "Damian, listen! This didn't happen because I want you to be perfect. You died because evil still exists in this world, and I am powerless to stop it all."
Damian adjusted his aim. "Fight me and die!"
"No!" Bruce wouldn't, no, he couldn't raise a hand against his child. Not now, not ever. He'd made too many mistakes, slipped up too many times. He regretted every one of those moments. This time, he refused to be baited.
Damian plunged his sword forward. This time, he didn't miss.
When the darkness faded, Bruce heard worried murmurs. He pulled himself out of the fog in his mind and opened his eyes. He saw the ceiling of the Batcave.
Dick was there in an instant, grabbing his hand and rubbing it anxiously. "Hey, B, how are you feeling?"
Bruce grunted. His head hurt and his whole body ached as if he had a fever. But he just shook his head at the question. "Where's Jason?"
Dick looked baffled for a second, then he smiled slightly. "Hey, Jay! Your old man is asking for you!"
Bruce heard a grumble of, "He's not my old man, jerkface," and then Jason appeared, looking worried despite himself.
"Jason's the one who found you," Dick explained. "When he brought you in, you were pretty out of it. It was… scary."
Bruce reached over with his free hand and grabbed Jason's shoulder. "You're not dead."
Jason flinched away.
Dick looked confused. "What are you talking about, B? Of course he's not dead!"
Bruce forced himself up onto his elbows and stared at Jason intently. "Listen to me! You're alive!"
Jason backed away. "Ooookay, I think someone needs a little more time to wake up. I'll… uh… I'll go get Alfred." He fled upstairs.
Bruce rubbed his face, his eyes still burning with he image of Jason's bones turning to dust before him. He finally looked up and saw Dick watching him.
He sighed. "I saw you die. All of you. You were all dead or doomed to die… because of me."
Dick sat on the stool next to the gurney. "It was just the fear toxin, Bruce. It's over now. I'm here, Jay's… alive, so are Tim and Cass and-"
Bruce started to relax and lay back. But Dick's voice cracked strangely, and he was instantly back on high alert as he tried to determine why.
The pain of that sword sliced through his heart again. There was one piece of his nightmare that wasn't resolved yet. "Where's…" he could hardly say it, his desperation rising as he tried to separate fact from fear toxin-induced hallucinations. "…Damian?"
The look on Dick's face told him all he needed to know:
Damian was dead.
Bruce closed his eyes to the horror, but it followed him into the darkness.