Bruce sat in silence staring down at a handwritten letter. He had been like this for a good twenty minutes. The rest of the team lingered around in the batcave. Tim and Damian hung around their lockers making use of this time by repairing their gear, as Dick sat on the far edge of the main computer console, waiting for Bruce to give the next order.

It had been two days since Marti was taken, and they had not stopped fighting since. Most of Gotham had been taken over by Jason's army. Troops lined the main roads, preventing police action, and were especially keen on keeping their team at bay. They had just narrowly evaded a full scale attack, and were taking refuge in the batcave to tend to their wounds.

Bruce was exhausted. His joints ached, and he could barely see through his right eye from the flash bang grenade a soldier threw in his path. He rubbed at his sore brow, and leaned back in his chair.

"What's the plan boss?" Dick questioned as he walked over to his side.

Bruce grabbed at the letter and held it up. It was a letter from Jason, telling him to come alone to Arkham Asylum. "We will do as he says."

"We're going to do what?! Bruce wait a-"

"He has Marti Dick."

"How are you so sure?"

"It's her handwriting." He said handing over the letter to Dick as he stood.

"So we're supposed to wait here while you go in alone?" Dick said following him over to the medical station.

Bruce began to pull the top half of his suit off. He fumbled for a second, and after he tugged out a few small pieces of shrapnel out of his side, he was finally free. Blood dripped down his side, and started to build up a small puddle on the ground.

"Bruce you're going to need stitches." Dick said as he looked for the kit.

Bruce rolled his eyes, and lifted himself up onto the counter.

Dick quickly sanitized the wound, and threaded the needle. "You want some anesthetic?"

Bruce shook his head. "I'll fall asleep if you use it."

"That probably wouldn't be such a bad idea." Dick said, still holding the needle.

Bruce gave him a sharp look.

"Alright, alright. Suit yourself." Putting down the syringe, Dick went to work on the stitches.

Aside from the few grunts of pain from Bruce, they didn't utter a word about the situation. Dick was busy trying to formulate a strategy for convincing Bruce he needed them, and a counter strategy for tagging along despite him saying no.

"I'm not sure who is supporting Jason. But I'm sure all com communication will be jammed."

"Well… At least we are starting to get on the same page." Dick said, putting down the needle.

Bruce looked over to the tech station. On the counter lay a long forgotten device that Fox had delivered months ago. "There might be a way."