A/N: Welcome back. I'll admit that this one was incredibly difficult to write for me. I'm not particularly great at writing action. I can see the whole scene playing out in my head, but actually putting it on paper is way hard. Also, school is hell. But I wanted to get this right, so thanks for your patience.

Here's Chapter 41 of Roles Reversed. Hope you enjoy!

Run Boy Run

They crashed through the door leading out of the dining room, a spray of shot littering the door frame as they passed through. The pellets barely missed Bruce's trailing leg.

He glanced over his shoulder, studying the spread on the door frame. Half a meter in diameter…maybe smaller.

Good. If the shotguns had wider spreads, escaping into the woods would be far more difficult. In a close-quarters situation, a smaller radius meant less chance of getting hit by a stray shot.

He heard Tetch scream to chase them, then two more shots fired in the dining room.

Bruce's stomach dropped as he heard the screams.

No matter, he couldn't help them. Not right now. He was unarmed and outnumbered, not to mention there were eighteen of Gotham's most fortunate going insane in the room behind them.

Selina dragged him through the first open door. The room was small and cozy, a library of sorts. Besides the door they'd entered through, there was a second door directly across from it, also open. He could see the door leading out of the house, just one hallway down from the room they'd just entered. Selina made a run for it, but he slammed on breaks and pulled her flat against the wall.

She hissed at him, "What are you doing?"

He shushed her. "Trust me," he murmured. Then, at the top of his lungs, he yelled, "THERE'S THE DOOR! COME ON!"

"What the hell!?" she exclaimed.

"Trust me," he shot back in a hush.

A pair of giant, lumbering footsteps barreled down the hallway.

Goon 1 was approaching, and fast.

Bruce closed his eyes and held his breathe, listening to the steps. He waited until the footfalls were practically shaking the floor underneath his feet to lash out, punching the giant man in the throat just as he crossed into the room they were hiding in. The man gagged and staggered backwards, raising his gun in a desperate attempt to fight back.

Bruce wrapped his hand around the barrel and shoved upwards just as it fired, sending the shot astray. His right hand seized up in pain. He ripped the gun out of the man's hands and threw it away, his hand smoldering from the blistering heat emitted by the barrel. He kicked the man hard in the stomach, doubling him over.

Selina jumped in, kicking the man upside the head.

Tweedle Dee crumpled.

That only left Tweedle Dum and then Tetch himself.

It would've been encouraging if Bruce's hand wasn't on fire. His knees buckled and he would've blacked out right then and there if Selina hadn't caught him.

"Don't you dare give up on me…" she chided. "Come on, Bruce, we have to go."

The pain was worse than nearly anything else he'd ever felt. He'd been burned before, back in Arkham, but that was to cauterize a wound. He'd been able to prepare himself for that. Anguish rolled over him in waves.

But Selina was here. He had to protect her.

He pushed himself back onto his feet, shoving his damaged hand into his jacket pocket and throwing his other arm over her shoulders. They limped out of the study through the opposite door, hobbling towards the front door.

Alfred would be there waiting in the car. How had he not heard the gunshots by now?

A wave of panic surged over Selina. What if Tetch had gotten to him first?

She was so distracted that she didn't notice Tweedle Dum appear from an adjacent hallway, not until he had his shotgun leveled at her chest.

Bruce's instincts saved their lives. He dropped to the floor with all of his bodyweight, pulling Selina down along with him as the gun fired. They were centimeters from being torn to shreds.

From the ground, Selina lashed out at their attacker, trying to kick him in the shin. It was too slow, and instead of kicking him he raised his foot and stomped down on her ankle. She cried out as her ankle nearly snapped in half. Bruce reached for the knife he'd tucked away in his belt. The man leveled the gun at his chest and he froze.

His mind, usually racing with different escape plans or counterattack methods, froze.

This is what it was like, huh? As many times as he'd nearly died…this one…

He felt more human in that moment than he had in his whole life.

He would later be ashamed to admit that he felt relief staring down the barrel of that gun. He wasn't suicidal or anything, but the thought of all of this ending was…calming.

Bruce was tired.

A moment later, it occurred to him that there was another person lying next to him.

He couldn't just leave Selina here, right? How could he do that? What if, after he was gone, she died, too?

He couldn't let that happen, he wouldn't.

But what could he do? His hand had frozen on the handle of his knife. His whole body was numb except for the pounding of his heart. How could he get out of this one?

Short answer: he couldn't.

This was where it ended for him. Tweedle Dum wasn't as dumb as he looked. He'd stepped far out of range from where Bruce could grab his gun and avert the shot. If he tried to throw his knife, he'd probably miss. Even if he hit the man, he'd probably still fire the gun out of instincts.

What could he do?

How could he save her?

The gun flew out of the man's hand, skidding harmlessly across the floor. He made an odd guttural sound, like he was choking, his head tilted up at the ceiling as he clawed at his neck. He collapsed, gurgling for a few more seconds before going horribly still.

Bruce looked up. Standing behind where the man had once stood was another man, dressed entirely in black. He wore a mask that covered his entire face and strongly resembled an owl. In his hand was a small, blood-soaked dagger.

He started towards them. Bruce reached for his own knife, but Selina grabbed his arm.

She had a startled look in her eyes, her vision jumping back and forth between the ban in the owl mask and Bruce. "Don't," she whispered breathlessly.

The man slid his knife into his belt and extended a hand to Selina. "Miss Wayne," he greeted. "I have been sent to extract you from the premises. Come with me."

Selina took his hand and he helped her up. The man paid Bruce no attention. He pushed himself up off the ground, keeping his smoldering hand shoved deep in his coat pocket. He wanted to protest, ask who the hell had just saved them, but the yells coming from the poisoned guests in the other room deterred him, if only momentarily. If what he'd heard about Alice Tetch's blood was true, they didn't have much time before a horde of psychotic elitists came surging out of the dining room to destroy them.

Selina grabbed his non-burned arm and pulled him along after the man. He turned left instead of going towards the front door.

"Where are we going?" Bruce called at him.

"The front entrance is barricaded," the Talon responded in a bored, almost robotic voice. "Come with me."

He wanted to keep protesting, but Selina gave him a wary look. She felt the same, but if she was following this guy…

He could trust her. Of that much he was certain.

He complied and followed Selina. She stayed close to the back of the man, unafraid.

They turned a corner, and a snarling billionaire launched herself at them. The man in black slammed her head against the doorframe. With a sickening crack, she collapsed, unmoving.

The man continued on his path as if nothing had happened. Bruce stared at the body for a moment. Who exactly was this man they were following?

Selina yanked his arm, telling him to snap out of it. He turned and stared at her. A pit formed in his stomach.

His vision started to tunnel. Maybe it was the excruciating pain in his hand, or maybe it was from seeing two people murdered in as many minutes. Either way, for a moment, all he could see was Selina.

There was no house in the woods, no man dressed in black. There was no corpse lying at his feet, there wasn't a mob of psychotic elitists bearing down on them.

There was just Selina Wayne, his best friend and his partner, the only person in the world he truly had faith in.

In that moment, he didn't trust her.

Those beautiful, green, sparkling eyes he'd fallen in love with were hard and calloused. There was a body at their feet and she didn't care.

The world around him came flooding back into view. Selina pulled him along after her, trying to catch up with the man in black who seemingly hadn't noticed Bruce's inner struggle.

What was she doing? Why would she keep following this guy? He was killing people!

A surge of energy coursed through Bruce. He surged on ahead of Selina, nearly overtaking the man in black. He ripped his uninjured arm away from Selina's grasp and drew his knife, searching for the next opponent.

If Selina wouldn't stop him from killing the other guests, then Bruce would have to save them himself, albeit not in the most conventional way.

Another crazed guest charged at them, an old judge who Bruce knew had been working with the mob for decades.

He wouldn't feel bad about this.

As the judge came in range, Bruce threw a roundhouse kicked and then tried to punch him in the nose. The kick connected perfectly, but the judge barely seemed to notice it. The punch missed by a hair, and the judge would've decked him if the man in black hadn't kicked his knee out.

Bruce put himself between the fallen judge and the man in black, preventing him from finishing the judge off.

Then, Penguin came around the corner, pistol drawn.

He looked more pissed off than normal.

He leveled the gun at Bruce's chest, announcing, "MISTER BRUCE KYLE, IT IS SO NICE TO SEE YOU AGAIN! I'VE BEEN WANTING TO DO THIS FOR A LONG TIME, YOU LITTLE SH–"

There was a decisive 'CLINK' noise as the man in black threw a perfectly aimed knife at Penguin's gun. It clattered on the floor.

Bruce charged, trying to reach Penguin before the man in black could throw another knife. A second blade sunk into Cobblepot's leg, and he collapsed before Bruce was anywhere near him.

The man barely acknowledged Bruce. He turned down another hallway, Selina following closely behind him. She held out her hand for Bruce, but he ignored it, choosing to rather carry his knife.

They arrived at a door, which the man in black kicked open. A wave of cool air swept into the house. They stepped out into the night, making a wide berth around the mansion in the woods. Along with the occasional crash, screams of rage emanated from inside. A window in the back of the house shattered, and they quickened their pace.

Finally, they arrived at the driveway where Alfred's car had been replaced by a longer, sleeker, matte-black limousine.

The man in black opened the car door, beckoning them inside.

Selina asked, "Where is Alfred?" staying firmly where she was.

The man in black responded, "Step into the car, Madam Selina."

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me where Alfred is," Selina retorted, standing her ground.

A feminine voice called from inside the car, "He is safe, but as long as you stand out there, you are not. Please join me, Selina. As for Mr. Kyle, we have provided separate transport back to the city."

"What? No! He's coming with us," Selina argued.

"Selina…" Bruce started, eyeing the man in black and the limousine warily. "You need to get out of here. Do you trust them?"

She looked back and forth between him and the man in black several times before nodding slowly. "Yes, I do."

"Then go. I'll be fine," he insisted. She hesitated. "Go," he repeated. "I'll call you when I get back to the city."

She got up on her tippy toes and kissed him. When she pulled away, there was a hard look in her eyes. "If you forget, I'll kill you," she stated.

He nodded. "I won't. Now go."

She furrowed her brow one last time and then stepped into the limousine. The man in black closed the door and the car rolled out of the driveway, leaving Bruce and the man alone.

When the limo was gone, the man in black pointed down the driveway at a taxi that had just pulled up. He then turned around and walked into the woods, disappearing in the tree line.

Bruce started up the driveway, guilt eating away at him.

Not only had he put Selina in harm's way countless times tonight, he'd let her go off with people he didn't know or trust without a fight.

But, evidently from tonight, they could protect her better than he could. He made the right decision…

He felt like shit. In the six months that she'd gone off to Switzerland, he'd felt unstoppable. He was a monster hunter. Yet he'd been completely unable to fend off two oversized bodyguards with shotguns, and he would've gotten Selina killed if it hadn't been for the man in black.

The taxi driver had a blank expression on his face. He didn't ask for money or a destination. As soon as Bruce sat down in the car, he started towards Gotham.


Kathryn sat inside the limousine, calmly reading her book. She set it aside as the limousine door closed and the car started moving.

Selina studied her, noticing the dark circles underneath her eyes for the first time. As ancient as she had appeared the first time Selina had encountered her, she now nearly resembled a mummy.

She cleared her throat and started, "Hello, Selina."

Selina tried to give a small smile, but it fell flat. "Hi."

Kathryn seemed to read her mind. "Alfred is safe, I assure you. As will be Mr. Kyle once he reaches the city. I take it he can handle himself?"

Selina nodded. "Yes, he can. Where are we going?"

"Back to Gotham," Kathryn coolly replied. "We cannot allow you to return to the Manor, not yet at least. Too many eyes…" she trailed off. "Alfred has already arrived at your new place of residence. We'll be there shortly."

Selina narrowed her eyes and instinctually checked over her shoulder. "You're not gonna knock me out, again, are you?"

Kathryn let out a low chuckle and shook her head. "No, Selina, there will be no need for that. I trust you." She reached into her purse and removed a white owl mask, the one that Selina had hidden away under the floorboards of her closet. The blood drained from her face. How much had they seen? Did they know she was still investigating them?

Kathryn handed the mask to her. "My group has been watching you very closely, Selina, and we believe it is time for you to take your father's place among us. Do you accept?"

Selina regarded the mask with scrutiny, placing it on the seat beside her. She narrowed her eyes and asked, "Who is 'we'?"

Kathryn smirked, as if she knew something Selina didn't. "We have been called many names over the years, patricians, aristocrats, loyalists…but more recently we have decided on a permanent moniker. You see, Selina, our group has protected and ruled over the masses for thousands of generations, affecting history as you know it, ensuring the survival of the pinnacles of human civilization. Babylon, Sparta, Rome, Paris, London, and now Gotham, we've worked in the shadows. We are the watchers of the night. As such, we've taken a namesake befitting of our role: the Court of Owls." She nodded to the owl mask lying beside Selina. "We'd like you to join us, protect this city, ensure the safety of those you love… That is, if you accept our offer."

Selina picked up the mask. Even if it was significantly different from the masks the Talon wore, when she looked at the eyeholes of the mask all she could see was Bruce's dark, cold eyes, staring down at her. It sent a chill down her spine. The idea of wearing such a mask repulsed her.

She cautiously asked, "What will happen if I don't join you?"

Kathryn calmly replied, "You will be left to your lonesome. However, I will not be able to guarantee your protection from other parties interested in our existence. We have no shortage of enemies… But if you join us, you will have an army of the Talon behind you, obedient to your every beck and call. You will be able to properly protect Mr. Kyle, your butler, anyone. That and you will have influence in the operation of the city like you cannot imagine. It's the reason your father sought us out in the first place. In his short time as a member of the Court, your father did many great things, helped thousands of people. Truly, your father was one of the greatest men to ever work in our Court," Kathryn leaned forward and put a hand on Selina's knee, "and I believe you can be even greater than him."

Selina could feel the hooks Kathryn had sunk into her. She knew she was being manipulated, but if she could protect Bruce and Alfred…

And what better way to investigate the Court than from the inside?

She studied Kathryn, her long, gnarled, bony hands, the elegance yet power she carried herself with. She seemed to calm and collected, completely in control of everything around her, not a care in the world.

Selina wanted that.

Maybe that was why she accepted the mask. Maybe it was because she wanted peace. Maybe it was because she wanted to protect the people she loved. Maybe it was out of some plan to bring the whole organization to its knees. Maybe it was because she wanted the power the mask would bring.

No matter the reason, she looked up at Kathryn and nodded. "I accept your offer."

Kathryn smiled. "I am truly glad to hear that, Selina. On behalf of the Court of Owls, I welcome you."


It was the middle of the night when Bruce arrived back in Gotham.

The driver dropped him off without a word. The scary part was, without telling him the address, he'd taken Bruce straight to the doorstep of his apartment building.

Bruce made his way into the lobby, his right hand still throbbing from the scorching heat of the shotgun's barrel. The pain was reminiscent of the burns his leg had received back in Arkham. He had at least second-degree burns, but parts of his hand had started to go numb.

That was not a good sign to say the least. He hadn't looked at his hand since he'd shoved it into his jacket pocket back at the house in the woods, but he had a bad feeling about what he'd see when he took it out.

He gave a half-nod to Wendy, their building attendant, and started up the stairs. His head felt lighter than normal and his legs far heavier. Half way up the second flight, he had to stop and rest.

He took a deep breath, inwardly screaming at himself to not pass out. He was almost to safety, just a few more steps...

He pulled himself up the last few stairs and hobbled down the hallway. He was exhausted. His hand was throbbing. Only a few more steps…

He fumbled around in his inner pocket for his key as he reached the door.

He stopped halfway, ice running down his spine.

The door was already cracked open, a single beam of light streaming into the dark apartment. He hesitated for a few moments, the throbbing of his hand subsiding temporarily. He slowly drew his knife, holding it out in front of him in a defensive stance.

He took a step forward, pushing the door open a few more inches. "Hello?" he called warily.

No reply.

He took a few more steps, opening the door fully and brandishing his knife. "Hello?" he called again.

No response.

He crept into the apartment, his knife at the ready. The light from the hallway lit up the entrance, shining into the living room. No lights were on in the house, the first light switch being in the living room.

Bruce took a few more cautious steps forwards, listening for signs of an ambush. He reached for the light switch.

"Don't," a familiar voice croaked. Bruce nearly jumped out of his skin. "Don't turn on the lights, Bruce."

"Jean?" Bruce asked, dropping his weapon to his side. He ignored his request and flipped on the switch, filling the apartment with light.

His blood ran cold.

Jean's shirt and neck were soaked with blood. There was a nasty gash running along the side of his neck, and a deep puncture wound near his heart.

"Holy shit," Bruce muttered, rushing for the first aid kit in the kitchen.

"Don't," Jean called. "Stop, come back, Bruce." Bruce did so. Jean held out his right arm. "Take this," he stated, putting a green gemstone in Bruce's hands. "Take this to the League…run, Bruce. They're coming–"

Glass shattered. Their huge window showing the skyline of Gotham broke into a million pieces. A bolt of black metal shot through it, lodging itself into Jean's chest.

Jean took a startled breath. His eyes were wide, like a frightened animal. He wheezed for breath, panic setting in. He opened his mouth to beg for help, but nothing came out.

And then, he died.

Bruce saw the light leave his eyes. He slumped over, mouth agape, unmoving.

No matter how many people Bruce had seen die, he would never forget that image.

A second bolt ripped through the blinds, missing Bruce's head by a mere inch, maybe less.

He ducked behind the wall as a third bolt nearly skewered him. He studied the projectiles that now decorated his living room wall. They resembled arrows, just shorter and sleeker. Crossbow bolts?

He was half-tempted to make a run for the front door, but the thundering of footsteps down the hall made him think otherwise.

He poked his head out in the open for a split second, and then moved back behind his cover. A fourth bolt sunk into the wall, where his head had been mere milliseconds before.

He sprinted across the living room, clearing the space before his hidden adversary had a chance to fire again. He blew through his bedroom door, dropping into a baseball slide and coming up next to his bed. He pulled out a long wooden crate and flipped it open. He removed a spare knife, a pair of brass knuckles, and his assassin robe.

The front door burst open.

Time was up.

He managed to pull the hood over his head as the footsteps arrived at his bedroom. He dove through the open window, landing flat-footed on the fire escape before vaulting over the railing. A crossbow bolt ripped through his hair as he fell. He dropped three stories before reaching out and grabbing the railing of another fire escape (one-handed, of course), stopping his fall momentarily. He dropped again, landing hard on the pavement below.

He glanced up for a moment and saw the glint of metal, and a man in black…

He dove out of the way, rolling next to a storm drain.

He had an idea. It was a disgusting idea, but an idea nonetheless. He took a deep breath, and then slid himself down into the drain. The floor gave way and he slid down the pipe.

He'd never been to a water park before, but after today he didn't really want to.

The slide of water and sewage and all kinds of nasty things let out into the system. He managed to stand upright, avoiding a swim in a foot of human waste and chemical runoff. He used the inside of his jacket to wipe off his hand, drawing his knife from his belt and charging down the pipe.

Behind him, a sliver of light appeared as the manhole covering was slowly lifted off.

Bruce picked up his pace, heading east through the system. He had to put as much distance as possible between himself and the man in black before attempting to resurface. He counted the blocks as he ran, occasionally pausing to check for signs of the man in black.

He arrived at the corner of East 40th and 17th. The police station was across the street from where the manhole would let out. He would probably be safe there.

He checked around the corner once more to see if he was being followed.

The silence in the sewers was deafening.

He started towards the ladder, but something stopped him.

He backed away from the ladder.

It was just in time, too, as a crossbow bolt flew through the rungs where his chest would've been. Bruce moved before he could think, closing the distance between himself and his adversary in three strides. A second bolt was shot at his head, but he side-stepped it. He reached for the man in black's weapon, but when he grabbed it his hand exploded in pain.

In the heat of the moment, he'd completely forgotten about his burnt hand.

He slashed with his knife in a wide arc, putting a few feet of space between himself and the man in black. The man aimed another bolt, and Bruce dove to the side, avoiding it by inches.

He made a really bad decision and threw the knife at his opponent.

The man caught it, regarded it distastefully, and tossed it over his shoulder into the sludge.

The sludge…

Bruce used his now free arm to scoop up as much of the filth as possible, splashing a wave of waste at his opponent. Naturally, the man tried to avoid it. That was all Bruce needed.

He grabbed his brass knuckles from his pocket, closed the distance in a stride, and swung a metal fist at the man in black. It landed clean on his jaw, and the man collapsed into the muck.

Bruce struggled towards the ladder, favoring his severely burnt hand. With a mighty push, he removed the manhole cover and hoisted himself out of the sewer. He emerged on a major street, hundreds of Gothamites bustling about.

He was bloody, covered in crap, and holding a pair of brass knuckles.

Naturally, no one gave him a passing glance.

After sliding the cover back on, he ducked into a nearby alleyway and collapsed behind a dumpster. He rested his head against the cool surface and closed his eyes. He wanted nothing more than to pass out right then and there. His hand was throbbing, he smelled like shit (literally), and Jean…

He rolled over and threw up.

Jean was dead.

Holy shit…

The men in black had killed him.

But why would they bring him to the city and then chase him? The green gemstone burned a hole in his pocket. What was so important that Jean had died for it?

He wretched, but nothing more came out. He hadn't eaten in how long?

He took several deep breaths, trying to ignore the burning in his mouth and throat.

He glanced across the street. The police station was right there. Ted was right there. He'd be safe there. He just needed to get up and go.

Jean could wait. The burning in his throat and mouth could wait. His throbbing hand could wait.

He forced himself onto his feet and stumbled across the street to the police station. He felt so weak, but it was moments like these when he needed to be strong. By sheer force of will, he made it up the steps and into the precinct. He scanned the room, searching for Ted's desk.

The last time he'd been here was three years ago after he'd gotten picked up at Tin's fight club trying to sell stolen goods. Times were simpler back then, before the assassins chasing Selina, before the gang war, before Galavan, before Strange, before the League… He almost missed it.

"Oi!" an officer called at him. "You alright, kid?"

He grit his teeth and nodded. "Yes, sir. I'm looking for my brother, Ted Grant?"

The officer smiled and nodded. "Oh, yeah, Ted's this way. I'll show you to him, Bruce."

He followed the cop. Later, it would occur to Bruce that he'd never told the officer his name. In the moment, however, he was just glad to meet someone who didn't want him dead.

They walked through the precinct, down a hallway, and around a corner. They passed the coroner's office and the evidence locker. Bruce started to wonder whether or not the cop had any idea where Ted really was. He'd never seen Ted's desk before, but the bustling background noise on their frequent phone calls made it sound like he was in the middle of the precinct, not the back of the station.

"You okay, kid?" the officer called over his shoulder, noticing that Bruce had started to trail behind.

He nodded, his hand subconsciously itching towards the spare knife tucked away in his belt. "Yes, I'm fine. Thanks Officer…?" he trailed off, asking for the cop's name.

The man gave no response.

They kept walking.

The alarm in the back of his head started going off again. They turned down a corridor that led to an exit sign.

There were another two doors leading to rooms off of the hallway. Bruce prayed that the cop would direct him into one of them.

They passed the first door, and then the second with no such luck.

His hand and head were throbbing in pain, and the acid reflux from vomiting burned his throat. The cop put his hand on the door handle, about to exit the building with Bruce in tow.

Bruce slammed into him from behind. The man's head hit the door, stunning him. Bruce kicked at his leg, knocking him off balance. As the man fell, he raised a weapon and fired a black dart at Bruce's head. It grazed his cheek, missing a killing blow by millimeters.

Bruce didn't give him another chance. He stomped on the fake cop's face, crushing his nose and leaving him rolling in agony.

Bruce kicked him in the head, again, knocking him out. He slumped against the wall, breathing heavily.

Something, or someone, was waiting for him outside that door. They had most likely heard the commotion from inside. The only option was to face them head-on before they wizened up and charged inside.

He shoved himself to his feet and took a wide stance. His knee almost buckled, but he managed to stay upright. He drew his knife. A drop of blood fell from his cheek to his hand.

He took a deep breath, steadying his pulse.

He kicked the door open and charged out of the hallway, dropping into a somersault and rolling up into a fighting stance. He scanned the area for adversaries but found no one.

Besides the reeking dumpster and patrol car, the alleyway behind the police station was empty. He had an idea, a stupid idea, granted, but an idea nonetheless.

He rummaged through the knocked out cop's pockets, eventually finding his keys. He'd never gotten his driver's license (who needed one in Gotham anyways?), he'd never even driven before, but it couldn't be that hard, right?

He dragged the cop into the alleyway and got behind the wheel. There were two pedals, one big and one small. He slammed his foot on the big one, and nothing happened. He slammed down on the other one, and, once again, nothing.

He hadn't started the car.

He slid in the key and the engine hummed to life. Foregoing a seatbelt, he slammed his foot on the smaller pedal again.

The car took off down the alleyway, almost killing a cat and knocking over a dumpster in the first two seconds. He pressed the bigger pedal and the car slowed slightly, but not enough. The car skidded through an intersection as he pulled hard on the steering wheel.

He swerved through traffic, earning several aggravated honks from his fellow drivers. He slammed on the big one (which he determined was the brake) and slowed down to a normal speed.

This wasn't so hard…

He eventually caught his stride. Big pedal slowed the car, little one sped it up, steering wheel turned it. Green means go, red means stop, yellow means go faster. On instinct, he'd started heading north towards Wayne Manor. He'd be safe there…

But would he?

Those people chasing him, the men in the black owl masks, Selina was with them. The Manor wouldn't be safe, it couldn't be.

He felt sick at the thought.

Ok, so he couldn't go to the Manor, and he definitely couldn't go home...maybe the Gym? But the assassins had known he was related to Ted, so of course they'd check there first. He could go south to the Flea. Jack could hide anything or anyone, of that much he was certain. But was that a safe option? Trusting Jack was about as viable an option as turning himself over to the assassins and asking them nicely to not kill him.

Where was he supposed to go?

He took a deep breath as he slowed to a red light. He was alone.

It was almost comforting, knowing that he had no one else to rely on besides himself. He'd lived like that for years before meeting Selina. He may have had a bed with the Grants at the Gym, but he'd survived on his own. He did it then, and he was even stronger now.

He'd find a place to ditch the cop car and then disappear into the Gotham underbelly.

He turned onto a side street and slammed on the gas. He'd go into East Gotham, Penguin's territory. Of all people, he doubted Penguin would be allied with the men in black (especially after the man in black threw a knife at his already bad leg). There were hundreds of places he could hide there for a few weeks, and an extensive black market to get food and supplies. He could beat this.

Bruce almost smiled.

He should've known better.

He turned down another side street (with the intention to ditch the car) and found himself driving straight at a man in a black owl mask, standing in the middle of the road. He was holding something out at the car, but Bruce couldn't tell what.

Then, the windshield shattered and a long, black dart sunk into his chest. He lost control of the car and went careening into the side of a building. The airbags deployed, smacking him hard in the face and breaking his nose. All he could hear was a high, sharp ringing. His hands were stained red with his own blood. He looked down at his chest. A wave of vertigo washed over him. He was bleeding, a lot. The grimy, disgusting, formerly-fancy shirt that Selina had picked out for him was stuck to his chest, a red stain surrounding the dart growing larger and larger by the minute.

He didn't have much time if he wanted to survive this.

He had to get out of the vehicle, escape the assassin, and get immediate medical attention. He didn't know what the bolt had pierced exactly, but it wasn't good. He had a bad feeling that, even if he could get away, he wouldn't get far.

But he couldn't think about that right now.

Step One: Get out of the car.

The door wasn't crushed, so he was able to kick it open. He crawled out of the wreckage and got a good look at his attacker. He was bigger than the other three men in black he'd come across, and, along with the crossbow and daggers, he had a sword strung across his back.

A second dart sunk into the car door, inches from his face.

He tried to catch his breath and make a plan, but he couldn't think.

Running wasn't an option, neither was standing and fighting.

He drew his knife and threw it at the man.

It clattered harmlessly to the ground.

He grit his teeth and forced himself to his feet, staggering out from his hiding place as he pulled on his last pair of brass knuckles.

The man in black drew back another arrow and leveled it at Bruce's chest. Bruce raised his fists in challenge.

"C'mon you son of a bitch," he challenged. "Fight me." The man stared him down, unwavering. "Fight me!" Bruce repeated. "Fight! Me!"

The man in black lowered the crossbow, hooking it back to his belt. He drew a long, curved sword from his back.

The rising sun reflected on the blade. It was a beautiful sword. It reminded Bruce of the two swords he'd helped steal from that warehouse in Bludhaven, with Talia and Jean. That had been quite the night. He'd nearly killed that man in the back alleyway, the one with the two slave girls.

Why hadn't he killed him?

Bruce couldn't remember.

Why had he stopped beating him? What had stopped him? He deserved to die, way more than Jean did at least. So why was Jean dead and that man still lived? It wasn't fair.

The man in the owl mask charged, raising his sword in position to deliver a death blow.

This wasn't fair. He couldn't fight him. He was bloody and bruised and broken.

He was tired.

He shouldn't try to defend himself.

This world was hell. Why keep living in it?

Why keep fighting?

He felt oddly at peace.

Selina would have to forgive him. He'd fought so hard for so long, she'd understand.

If only he'd gotten to say goodbye…

The sword swung and met its mark, slicing deep through his throat. It hurt like hell, but Bruce didn't fight it. He collapsed as the man sheathed his sword.

He stared up at the sky as the sun rose over his city.

He'd never thought about death that much, but he'd always assumed he'd die like this, lying in an alleyway, staring up at the sky while the man who killed him stood over him.

"BRUCE!" a feminine voice shrieked.

It sounded like Selina. It made him happy. At least he'd get to say goodbye.

In a flash, she was flying through the air, twin daggers drawn. Two more men followed behind her, both holding swords. They all wore similar hoods and cloaks.

The three fought the man in the owl mask, overwhelming and bringing him down in an instant.

The girl rushed back to his side, yelling his name.

His vision was fading, but he quickly determined the girl crouched over him wasn't Selina. Her hair was long and dark, not like Selina's short, chestnut curls.

"Bruce, can you hear me?" she asked.

He whispered, "Talia…" and was startled by how rapsy his voice sounded. "Jean, he's in the apartment. He needs help…"

She shook her head, grabbing his hand and squeezing it hard. "We already found him, he's gonna be okay."

Bruce smiled weakly. "Good, that's good…"

Taila squeezed on his hand so hard it hurt. "Don't close your eyes, Bruce. Look at me. Don't close your eyes. Stay awake." She told the two assassins flanking her to bring the car around. "You're gonna be alright, Bruce," she repeated. "Think about Selina. Don't leave her."

He tried to focus on her words, but they became increasingly muddled until he couldn't hear her talking anymore.

"Selina…" he coughed. "They have her," he rasped, pointing at the dead man in black. "Save her, please."

"Stay alive and save her yourself," Talia snapped. "Don't you dare die, Bruce."

He didn't listen. He closed his eyes, content that Jean was safe and Talia would do anything to save Selina.

He thought about her smile...

And with that, he died.

A/N: Hi everyone. Like I said before, this chapter took me forever to write, especially the action scenes (which is most of the chapter unfortunately). Thank you all so much for your encouraging comments! It really meant a lot as the past three months between this chapter and the prior one have been brutally busy.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed and, if you did, make sure to review. Thanks for reading and ciao for now!