Chapter Five

Bruce hardly enjoyed his time at the hospital.

It wasn't really a pleasant stay. Hospital beds were hardly the epitome of comfort. The food sucked, but at the very least he got some peace and quiet.

The doctor had kept his word on keeping the press away from the room. He was positive that handling all of those questions would cause more stress. More stress meant he would have to stay in the hospital longer, and Bruce was not too keen on that idea.

Today, he found himself laying back in that ever-lumpy bed and flipping through the television channels. He landed on the news, pausing his search when he saw the story that was being broadcast. Some sort of terrorist attack near Exit 43. The reporter stated that there were at least 15 armed men halting traffic and firing on civilians. There was also a mention of one good Samaritan helping people get out of their cars and off of the freeway. A woman armed with a shield.

Bruce's eyes widened, and he quickly sat up. A burst of pain shot up his chest, forcing him back down into the bed with a grunt. He wasn't going anywhere. Not until this wound healed properly.

Regardless, he needed to get a phone. He needed to call Alfred and find out what was going on.

He reached for the call button to attempt to get a hold of his nurse, only to hear some noises coming from outside his room. There was the sound of people rushing down the halls. A voice came on the intercom, warning all available staff members of "External Triage".

Bruce knew what that meant. They were preparing for the rush of injured and casualties from the attack on the freeway.

But then, he heard another noise. The sounds of bodies hitting the linoleum floor. The doorknob to his room jiggled, and he watched in shock as some stranger entered his room.

He stood at a little over six feet tall, carrying himself like a soldier would. He wore black, save for a worn brown leather jacket. His most defining feature, however, was what he had tucked under his arm.

A red helmet.

Just like Diana had said.

Bruce immediately moved for the call button, and the man strolled over to the window without a word. Frantically, Bruce began jabbing his finger into the remote, praying that someone would come fast.

"I wouldn't bother." The man sighed, his voice as rough as he jacket looked. "They've got a whole mess of bodies to take care of down in the E.R... Besides, I was able to take down your 'security' without a problem. You think a couple of dudes in bed sheets are going to take me out?"

"Who are you?" Bruce snapped. "What do you want?"

He saw the mans shoulders sag. Almost as if he was saddened by Bruce's words. A sigh left his lips, and he tossed his helmet into a nearby chair.

"Seriously?" He chuckled. "You really don't know? World's greatest detective can't even figure out who's standing in th room with him? You lost your touch, Bruce."

Bruce's eyes narrowed as he stared the man down, trying to recognize him. His hair was black, minus a shock of white that had a habit of falling into his eyes. He'd brushed the hairs away a couple times as he took in his reflection in the window.

His eyes were green; a dull green that looked like they'd seen years of battle. Maybe this man really was a soldier. But still, Bruce couldn't put a finger on it.

"All I see is someone who is not welcome in here. Get out!"

The man clenched his fist, turning on his heel.

"I'm not welcome here? That's rich coming from you!" He retorted. "You're the one who shouldn't be here. You should be 6 feet under for the shit you've done!"

"Is that why you're here then?" Bruce countered. "To finish the job? Fantastic job you're doing there. You're supposed to be an assassin, right?"

It only seemed to make the man angrier. "Oh, believe me, I am here to finish the job." He snarled. "I just wanted you to see this face one last time... I wanted to see this face, and I wanted you to explain this!"

He pulled a stack of papers from his jacket, slamming it onto the side table with a force that even made Bruce jump. Glancing over it, Bruce could see a familiar mugshot grinning back at him.

The Joker.

He was holding the documents Bruce had on his hard drive about The Joker.

"Explain to me why this lowlife piece of trash is still fucking alive!" The man hissed. "Explain to me how, after everything he's done, he's still breathing!"

Bruce looked up at the man, seeing almost a look of hurt cross his face. His breathing was ragged, and Bruce could see his hands shaking.

"After what he did to Barbara... After what he did to me... How could you let him live?"

Bruce's eyes widened. In his mind, the man's face had shifted to that of a young boy. A boy who's bright green eyes had been full of determination. A boy that sported black eyes and missing baby teeth like they were trophies from the fights he got into.

A boy that had been like a son to him; like a brother to Dick and Barbara.

A boy that had died so long ago.

Finally, there he was, staring at Bruce once again.

"Jason?"

A small, almost sad smile spread across the man's face as he confirmed Bruce's theory.

"Well... Looks like I wasn't forgotten after all."

"I could never forget you!" Bruce protested. "But, just... How? How are you alive?"

The softened features of his face suddenly hardened. All emotion left him as he transformed from the son Bruce had known and loved, to a cold, ruthless killed.

"You shouldn't worry about that." He said sternly, straightening himself out again. "All that matters is that I'm here now, and I'm going to start cleaning up this city."

His hand slipped to his belt, pulling out a pistol and brandishing it.

"Starting with you."

Bruce stared down the barrel of the gun. It wasn't the first time in his life that he had. But what made matters worse, was the man holding the gun. He felt a bead of sweat roll down his face as he tried to think of what to do.

"Killing me won't make up for what happened, Jason." Bruce said, trying to negotiate. "Believe me... Not a day goes by where I don't wish it was me that had died. Every night since then, I've seen your face. I've replayed that night over and over again in my head, and I wished that I had done better. I wished that I had killed him, Jason. He doesn't deserve to live; you're right. But you know as well as I do that it's not our place to make that kind of decision. You know why that 'no kill' rule exists. Killing him... It makes us just as bad as the rest of them."

"Bullshit!" Jason growled. "If it had been you, I would've gone to Hell and back to make that clown suffer! If it had been you, nothing would've stopped me from making sure that he never hurt anyone ever again! And the fucked up thing is, you let him! I've read the files, Bruce... You let him paralyze Barbara and leave her for dead. You let him nearly kill Commissioner Gordon. You let him get away with murder both literally and figuratively. After all that, I would've thought that I would've been the last straw!"

His voice cracked. Tears threatened to fall from his eyes. Bruce felt like he was getting to him, but he couldn't deny the guilt he felt.

"Jason... I'm sorry."

It was all he could say. What else could he do? He could never dissuade Jason from anything in the past. Why would it start now?

"You used to tell me that sometimes it wasn't enough to be sorry... Right now," Jason cocked the slide on his pistol, pressing the gun to Bruce's temple. "This is one of those times."

Bruce had been hoping that Jason would get close. This was a personal grudge, it made sense to get up close and personal with his victim. He had his arm extended, and Bruce took that opportunity it gave him.

He slammed his fist into Jason's elbow, the blow forcing the gun to go off to the left. The shock made Jason prematurely pull the trigger, firing off a shot relatively close to Bruce's ear.

The gunfire left a ringing in his ears he was all too familiar with. Still, he pressed on, shoving Jason up against the wall.

A smirk spread across Jason's face. He spoke, but the ringing made it impossible for Bruce to hear. He could make out the words by his lips, however.

"You haven't lost your touch after all."

Jason stomped down on Bruce's exposed foot, allowing him an open opportunity to slam his knee into Bruce's gut.

The pain was unbearable. Bruce felt like his internal organs had ruptured, though he knew he would be dead if that were the case.

He dropped to the floor, gingerly pressing his hand to the injury and freezing when he saw blood. His stitches has been ripped open.

Jason towered over him, his gun back at the ready. Bruce was practically gasping for air, trying to think of what to do.

There was a medicine cabinet down the hall where they kept all of the sedatives and such. If he could get there fast enough he could slow Jason down for a while.

It was just a matter of getting an I.D.

As Jason approached again, Bruce used some of his remaining strength to deliver a sweeping kick to Jason's legs, effectively dropping him to the ground.

Bruce then scrambled to his feet, rushing out the door of the room and slamming it shut behind him.

The commotion had gained the attention of a nurse at the front desk, rising to her feet in concern.

"Sir, is there a problem?" She asked.

The ringing in Bruce's ears had died down, and he was thankful for that. But he needed to get out of here.

Suddenly, the door behind him bursted open, and the sounds of gunfire filled the room.

The nurse shrieked in fear, and Bruce immediately jumped into action. He closed the distance between himself and the nurse, practically tackling her and pulling her under the desk for cover. The sound of gunfire echoed throughout the room, and over the intercom they could hear a voice declaring a "Code Black".

The code for someone armed with a gun. They were going to get law enforcement involved.

It wouldn't be enough. Batman evaded the police like it was a hobby, he could only imagine what it would be like with the Red Hood.

The nurse shook in Bruce's arms, nearly on the verge of sobbing. Her fingers dug into his hospital gown, clinging to him like a lifeline.

"Hey, hey, it's going to be ok." Bruce spoke to her softly, trying to both calm her, and keep their cover secret.

He glanced down at her name tag in an attempt to connect with her.

"Talia, right?" He asked her. She nodded. "Ok... If you want to get out of here, Talia, I need you to help me."

She didn't speak, she just kept nodding. She looked like she was slipping into shock, but Bruce was attempting to keep that from happening.

"I need you to get me to some sort of sedative to use on him until the police get here." He told her. "And, if possible, I need a change of clothes."

"You're... You're bleeding..." She said softly.

Bruce glanced down, seeing that the blood had seeped through his hospital gown. He shook his head dismissively.

"Don't worry about it. Just worry about yourself, and the other patients."

She hesitated, but she nodded again.

"Ok... I can get you what you need."

"And maybe some morphine. Just enough to where you won't get in trouble."

"Please," She scoffed. "After this, I might just get promoted."

Bruce couldn't help but give a small smile at that before peeking out from behind the desk.

Jason was standing in the hallway, scanning with his eyes. It was obvious that he was trying to find Bruce... But he was hesitating.

Talia took this opportunity to rush down the hallway parallel to him, making her way toward the cabinet.

Bruce took this opportunity to rise to his feet, using the front desk as his support. Jason's gaze met his... And for a moment, it looked like something had changed.

The look of anger on his face melted away to a hybrid look of concern and confusion.

"Bruce?" He asked, taking a half step back. His eyes darted around the room as he tried to figure something out.

"Bruce... What's happening?" He asked. "I... Where am I?"

An eyebrow rose on Bruce's face, and he brought up his hands to show he meant no harm.

Maybe Jason hadn't been acting on his own this whole time.

"Jason, it's me... You're in Saint Joan's Hospital. You... You haven't been acting like yourself."

Jason shook his head before pressing a hand to his temple. He looked to be in pain.

Whatever was wrong with him seemed to be clearing up; for a moment, the old Jason seemed to be showing through.

Before much else could be said, Bruce caught sight of Talia behind Jason. Armed with the sedative Bruce had asked for, she jabbed the needle into his neck.

He spun around, stumbling as he tried to regain his bearings. Talia took a step back, and he collapsed to the floor.

The moment he did, Bruce stumbled as well. He gripped the edge of the counter, trying to keep himself upright.

Talia rushed to his side, setting a bundle of clothes onto the counter.

"Let me redo the stitches." She said. "You're going to bleed out."

"There's no time." Bruce said, grabbing for the sweatpants and hoodie the nurse had set onto the counter. "Just bandage me up as good as you can. I need to go help my friend."

"What about him?" She asked, looking back at Jason.

"How much did you give him?"

"Enough to keep him out for a while." She replied. "The police can deal with him."

As much as Bruce hated to leave Jason to the mercy of the GCPD, he knew that was probably the safest place Jason could be. If it boiled down to it, he could pay off the bail and figure out what was going on on his own terms.

"Keep an eye on him until they come." Bruce said, straightening up as much as he could once his abdomen was wrapped up. He slipped into the clothes Talia had found for him, and shrugged on the hoodie.

"Hey, uh... Thank you." She told him. "Really, I... I don't know what would've happened if you hadn't been here."

"I'm sure you would've managed without me." Bruce said with a smile. If you ever need me to swing by again, give me a call?"

She looked over him once with a smirk on her face before grabbing for one of the business cards off the counter. She jotted down a set of numbers and handed the card to him.

"Tell you what: how about you call me." She said, slipping the card into his hoodie pocket. "Something tells me you'll need it, Mr. Wayne."

She gave him a wink, and glanced down the hall at the sound of voices.

"Take the stairs." She said, ushering him towards the door. "I'll say one of your guards knocked him out. The other one escorted you to safety."

Bruce couldn't thank her enough.

Without another word, he made his way down the stairs and back into the world. The hospital smell was instantly replaced with the familiar, smoggy scent of the place he called home.

Now was not the time to bask in his freedom, however.

Now, he had to get to Diana.

*

"Steve?"

The name hung in the air, filling the space between the two of them. The woman stared down at him in a sense of shock, her hand shaking mere inches away from his face.

The sun was behind her, creating an almost angelic glow about her. Something about it seemed familiar, right down to her tightly braided hair. So much so that it made his head hurt.

"Steve... It's you..." She whispered, her fingers grazing his jawline. "It's really you?"

He snapped his head back in an attempt to retreat from her touch, shoving her off of him almost effortlessly.

"Who the hell is Steve?" He hissed, unsure of why the woman was calling him that. He had no name. Only the codename they'd given him in the League. It had been like that for as long as he could remember. He didn't need a name. Names carried baggage. Useless memories.

"Steve... It's me!" The woman said, regaining her footing. "It's Diana. Don't you remember?"

She sounded almost saddened by her words, though he was unsure why. She was mistaken; he wasn't this "Steve" she spoke of.

He was the Zeitgeist. The ghost from another time; a top assassin in the League. Nothing else.

But the way she looked at him bothered him. She was looking at him like he were a long lost friend...

Or even a lover.

Yes. That was love he saw in here eyes. He'd seen it another time when Ra's had him take out a rival once. The rival's wife had witnessed the whole thing, and he ultimately had to put a bullet in her head as well. He couldn't leave witnesses.

But that look of love... The look that slowly shifted into a look that communicated loss and sorrow. That was what was on her face.

Suddenly, he felt heat. A white-hot pain in his head. Images of fire came to his mind... And a woman screaming.

No. These weren't real. They were just false memories put into his head; memories that Ra's had warned him about. The only way to stop them was to kill the Bat and the woman.

And the woman was staring right at him.

Without another word, he brought up his gun and fired off a round.

The woman deflected the bullet, just like he knew she would. He closed the distance between them with a couple strides. It became obvious that bullets wouldn't do anything. It had to be a bit more personal.

He pulled a knife from a sheath strapped to his arm, attempting to slash at her. She brought up her shield in time to stop him. It became clear that he would have to find a way to disarm her.

While he was close enough to her, he noticed that she was hesitating. She could've easily swatted him away with that shield, but she didn't.

She didn't want to fight him.

He saw this as an advantage. Hooking his leg around her's, he sent her to the ground in an instant.

Before she could bring that shield up to protect herself anymore, he brought his foot down on it, pinning it to the ground.

The woman cried out in pain, and he watched as her shoulder dislocated. Had this been any other time, he would've been content. But here...

Here, he felt regret.

"Steve, stop!" She cried, tears rolling down her face. "Please, Steve, it's me! It's Diana! You don't have to fight me; I'm not you're enemy"

"Stop calling me that!" He growled, gripping the knife tighter.

That name... That damn name.

Why did it make his head pound? Why did seeing her in pain bring him such discomfort?

Why couldn't he kill her?

His hand shook, and he didn't even realize at first that he had dropped the knife.

Diana didn't grab for it. Instead she could only stare as the man fought internally with something she couldn't even begin to understand.

He took a step back, freeing her shield arm from his boot. His hands shook as he grabbed for his head, clearly in pain.

"Steve..." She spoke softly, rising to her feet and gently attempting to approach him. His head whipped up at her in shock, his face resembling that of a frightened, caged animal.

Diana gently took a hold of his hands, bringing them down from his face. Oddly enough, he let her. But she wasn't about to question it.

She cupped his face in her hands, letting her fingers trace along the outline of it. Everything was as she remembered. His cheekbones, his jawline, the prickly stubble across his cheeks. She could hardly believe that it was his face she was touching again. But it was.

"Steve, it's alright." She told him. "It's ok. I'm going to help you. Whatever is wrong, we'll fix it together. Just come back to me... Please?"

He looked up at her; and for a moment, Diana was sure that she had gotten through to him.

But then, his gaze shifted behind her, and that look quickly changed.

His face had become an embodiment of rage itself.

Diana turned, and saw what had angered him so.

Bruce stood in the alleyway behind them, barely standing on his own two feet. Blood was soaking through his clothes, and he looked as white as a ghost.

Before Diana could say anything, Steve went running towards Bruce, prepared to finish what he'd started.

But then, another gunshot went off.

It was a rifle. An older one by the sounds of it. The bullet wizzed by Bruce and Steve, making Steve stop dead in his tracks.

The bullets kept coming, warding Steve off from killing his prey. Ultimately, he had to retreat.

Diana was faced with a dilemma at first. Pursue Steve, or help Bruce. But one look at Bruce made her rethink all of that.

He was dying, and Diana wasn't about to let that happen.

She rushed to his side, catching him just as he'd crumpled to the ground.

"Bruce, stay with me." She said, grabbing a hold of him. "What happened?"

"Came to the Hospital... Busted open my stitches." He mumbled. "Jason... Jason..."

He looked about to pass out right then and there. Diana shook him, attempting to keep him talking.

"Come on, keep it up." She said frantically. "What about Jason?"

"Red... Hood."

He wasn't making sense. But she knew she had to get him back to the hospital.

No, wait, not the hospital. If he was attacked there, they had to try someplace else. These assassins knew how to get into Wayne Manor. Any other hospital would be swarmed with reporters the minute his name was mentioned. There had to be someplace else they could go.

"Diana..." A voice that belonged neither to Bruce nor Steve spoke behind her. Clutching Bruce to her chest, she craned her neck to try and see who it was that was summoning her.

The face she saw almost made her want to burst into tears all over again.

Slinging his rifle across his back, dressed in modern day attire, save for a stitched suade jacket, was her old friend.

The man she'd come to know as Chief.

Diana was speechless. He approached her grabbing for Bruce and hoisting him over his shoulder.

"Napi..." She said, saying his name for the first time in decades. "How-?"

"I can explain later." He said, his voice as kind as ever. "Right now, we need to get him some help. I can patch him up in my home. But we need to go."

"You drove Steve off..." She stated, trying to wrap her head around all of this. But, as Chief had said, there wasn't enough time.

So she did as he'd wanted. She followed him back to his home. They needed to get off the streets anyways before the police showed up.

But Diana knew that when Bruce woke up, she would need answers.

A lot of them.