The Terror of Gotham
Bruce jerked forward, gasping and clawing for air. He couldn't move, he couldn't breathe. He-
-took a deep breath, letting the dank, wet air of the cave fill his lungs. Slowly, he exhaled and swallowed another mouthful, his heart hammering against his ribs. He tore off one of his gloves and wiped his cheeks and forehead, surprised they were drenched in sweat. He blinked and took stock of his surroundings.
The BatCave. He had been down here doing something. He couldn't quite remember. He peered up at the computer screen before him with bleary eyes and saw a fuzzy black ball in the middle of the screen. In the corner, a face appeared briefly, two swimming ghastly white orbs and razor thin teeth.
He rubbed his eyes and looked again. There was nothing. He tried once more and when nothing reappeared, he sat back in his chair, attributing it to the fading dream. The past few days had left little time for rest and he must've dozed off. Another fitful and unpleasant sleep like so many others where he was in danger.
Bruce put his face in his hands, trying to hold on and remember the dream even as it slipped through his fingers. He had been chasing someone. A figure ahead of him. Then suddenly, he hadn't been able to breath. Almost like he was drowning. It had felt so vivid, so real.
"Another late night, Master Bruce?" Alfred asked in a droll tone as he descended the stairs into the cave, carrying a food tray. "Have you considered moving your bed down here? You might actually get some sleep."
"If I did, I'd never leave the cave," he muttered.
Bruce peered up at his computer. In the center, a window of the local news flashed the day's top headlines. Surrounding it were local police reports on minor crimes, as well research on a chemical compound. The same compound he located at a crime scene last night while tracking the Joker. And what he must've been reviewing before dozing off.
"Ah, yes. That would certainly be a different routine," Alfred noted sarcastically, setting down the tray at the computer. "Good heavens, are you alright?"
"Fine," Bruce said, massaging at a migraine in his temple. "Didn't sleep well."
"Then may I recommend some tea?" Alfred said, taking the pitcher from the tray and pouring him a cup. "I also prepared some eggs and toast for breakfast."
"Thank you, Alfred," he said, holding the cup and reviewing the news. Nothing of interest so far, aside from a statement by the GCPD about the ongoing efforts to find the Joker. "Where's everyone else?"
"I believe Master Grayson returned to Bludhaven for work. Miss Gordon is still out following up on a lead of the Joker's whereabouts."
"And Tim?"
Alfred maintained his composure, but his pencil thin mustache ruffled for him. "Quite eager to help you search. However, I instilled into him the importance of a good attendance record and a good education."
Bruce chuckled and picked up the schedule Alfred had brought on the tray. A board meeting, a call with some investors, and then a black-tie event at Gotham Museum. Pretty light, all things considered.
"Any luck with the search?" Alfred asked, gazing at the computer screen.
"Not quite," he said. "The compound we found at Joker's old hideout was fresh and isn't dangerous at all. In fact, it's mostly used in food mixtures for animals as an additive."
"How curious. Perhaps he's making food for those hyena monstrosities he keeps as pets?"
"Maybe." With Halloween approaching, the streets would be flooded with trick-or-treaters and partygoers. Easy targets for the Joker to cause the most chaos. The possibilities for how were endless. He tapped a few keys on his computer, starting an analysis of the compound for any additional information.
"If that will be all, I should drive Master Drake to school," Alfred said, bowing and taking his leave.
Bruce nodded and sipped his tea. He finally noticed the creamer on top in the shape of a large and unshapely bat. "Getting into the holiday spirit, Alfred?"
He turned around. "Beg your pardon, sir?"
He lifted the cup. "The tea. The cream on top is," and he trailed off. The shape was gone and the tea was darker than it had been.
"Oh, I forgot the cream," Alfred said. "My apologies. Did you want any, sir?"
"No," Bruce said slowly, tilting the cup and rolling the tea around. There wasn't a hint of white anywhere in it. "No, it's fine. Thank you." As Alfred left the cave, Bruce frowned at the tea and sat back in his chair. The past few days were getting to him. He promised himself to sleep as soon as he was able.
The day passed so quickly that by the time Alfred drove him to the museum, Bruce barely remembered anything from the entire day. He looked down at the drink in his hand, half-expecting the tea from that morning instead of the wine that swirled within it.
The artifacts on display for the event sat under bright lights in the main area. An ornate pair of perfectly cut diamonds took the largest pedestal as the centerpiece, supposedly belonging to some ancient noble who feared losing both of them and always kept them together, earning the jewels the nickname of the Twin Gems. On loan from the Star City Museum, they were quite impressive.
Yet they didn't hold Bruce's interest currently. Neither did the group whose conversation he had meandered into. As he made polite remarks and offered plastic smiles to match theirs, his mind was elsewhere. The Batcomputer had failed to provide any helpful information, which didn't sit well with him. With Halloween only a couple days away, he was on edge to catch the Joker and soon.
Through the crowd, he spied a familiar face in a dusty brown trench coat that stood out like a welcome eyesore from the stuffy crowd. Bruce navigated his way through Gotham's elite, wearing the first genuine grin of the night. "Good evening, Commissioner. Don't tell me they have you working this too?"
Gordon extended his hand, greeting Bruce. "Evening, Mr. Wayne. Afraid so. Not that I mind. A little security work is like a break after this past week."
"No luck with the Joker, huh?" Gordon shook his head sadly as Bruce sipped his wine. "I'm sure you'll find him soon."
"More like he'll find us." The commissioner jammed his hands in his pockets and gave Bruce a strange, contemplative look, as though really examining him, and his eyes flashed behind his glasses. "It won't blow away in time." His voice sounded different, chilling and muted, as though behind a thick pane of glass.
"Pardon?" But he continued to stare at Bruce in that perplexing fashion, like the billionaire was someone completely different to him.
Before Gordon could clarify, his walkie-talkie beeped and he pulled it out of his coat pocket. "Yes?" He sounded normal.
"Sir, we have some unruly guests by the wine bar."
He sighed and nodded at the device. "I'm on my way. If you'll excuse me, Mr. Wayne."
Gordon had barely left before someone tapped Bruce's shoulder, dispelling the strange experience. Dick popped an hors d'oeuvre in his mouth and Barbara, latched on his arm, flipped her long red hair to her other shoulder. Both were dressed in fashionable black attire. "You get the night off?"
"With you, there's never a night off. We thought you could use a little company," Dick said.
He nodded to a nearby corner with less people and they casually walked over to it. "Any luck?" he murmured to Barbara over his drink, keeping an eye on the crowd.
"Nothing," she said. "The lead didn't pan out. My guess is Joker's gone to ground."
"I agree." Bruce scoured the faces of the people, a sudden thought taking root and wiping away the lethargy temporarily.
Dick caught onto it first. "You think he could be here? Going after the diamonds?"
Barbara's eyes widened and she glanced at the nearby faces.
"It did occur to me," Bruce said. "They are worth several million each. If the Joker is trying to plan something big in the next few days, he would need the funds for it." He checked the room. Third floor, eight different entrances surrounding them for stairwells and other parts of the museum. Not to mention the broad, windowed rooftop.
"How many cops did you father bring?" Bruce asked.
"Eight," Barbara told him.
"How many did you count when you came in?"
Dick grimaced. "Six."
He double checked the uniformed officers around the room. "Me too." He reached into his pocket and handed them each a small, in-ear transmitter and inserted his own. "Spread out. Radio if you find them."
They nodded and quickly separated, weaving through the crowds. Bruce set his drink down and slipped through the people, keeping his eyes peeled for any suspicious activity.
It didn't take him long to find it. At the far end of the room, he spotted a large, balding man in black coveralls with an ill-fitting tuxedo jacket that bulged on one side. The man blended in poorly with the rest of the attendees. One of the members of the Two-Ton Gang, if he wasn't mistaken.
He touched his ear and quietly radioed the others. "Anything?"
"Yeah," Barbara said. "A few large, three hundred-something pound things."
That confirmed his fears. If the Two-Ton Gang was here, that meant the Joker wasn't the one targeting the diamonds.
As if on cue, the actual culprit's machine gun fired, spitting bullets above the crowd and through the glass cases housing the displayed artifacts. The large man in front of Bruce threw aside his jacket and pulled out his own machine gun, joining the fray. The museum attendees shrieked and trampled one another to reach the exits.
The display cases burst apart, shooting glass shards throughout the room. A sudden pain swept across Bruce's neck and he touched the spot. Red drops stained his fingers and he curiously rubbed them between his thumb and forefinger.
A pair of hands grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him behind a collection of potted plants against the wall. Dick's face took up his entire vision, worried and with that same odd expression Gordon had given him. "You've got to wake up."
Bruce shook his head, clearing the cobwebs from it, and when he looked up again, Dick had donned his Nightwing mask and outfit. The blue bird emblazoned on his black costume shimmered with a fuzzy outline. "Did you bring your other suit?" he asked, pushing back his dark hair and scanning the scene.
Nodding, Bruce quickly discarded his tuxedo and dress shirt, revealing the familiar bat symbol beneath. He tapped his ear as he pulled off his pants and fit his cowl snugly on his head. "Barbara?"
"I'm here. I'll help the police get everyone out."
Bruce signaled to Dick the Two Ton gang members and, with a couple of hand gestures, laid out one of their older plans of attack. Dick pointed to the skylight above, gave a couple of his own gestures for a modification, and held up one of his customized Wing-Dings based on the Batarangs. Bruce nodded.
As Dick stole away against the shadows, Bruce picked out Two-Face approaching the Twin Gems. "Keep them back!" he snarled, his scarred face sneering at his men. They dutifully obeyed and shoved the remaining crowd further to the other side of the museum.
Reaching into a pouch on his utility belt, Bruce grabbed a smoke pellet and threw it into the center of the room. Immediately, jets of smoke hissed out, filling the area with blinding gray clouds. The hostages and gang members coughed, and the anxious screaming returned as everyone became indistinct silhouettes.
"He's here," Two-Face growled, re-loading his gun and sweeping it through the smoke. "Find him!"
Bruce crept low in the smoke, keeping to the far edges, and cycled through his cowl's vision to detect heat signatures. Four large ones stood out, their heads swiveling back and forth as they searched.
The closest one walked right by Bruce without properly checking his surroundings. He was an easy target. Leaping from the shadows, he grabbed the man's shoulders. The gang member cried out as Bruce used his momentum to fling him into the wall. The man rose on wobbly feet, his gun wavering, and Bruce landed right cross to his jaw.
That was one.
"Peek-a-boo!" Dick called from above near the skylight, landing on one of the other crooks in the misty smoke. Someone fired at him and Dick threw one of his Wing-Dings, then somersaulted backwards in the smoke. A few seconds later, another whump, a cry of pain, and that left one gunman and Two-Face.
Bruce silently sprinted for the last gunman, who fired wildly into the smoke. He dodged the shots, delivered a sweep kick to the man's shins, and he fell. Another punch and the man was out of the fight.
"One step closer and I start shooting," Two-Face threatened him, whipping his gun this way and that. "C'mon, fifty-fifty shot. Either I hit you and the brat or a hostage. Want to take those odds, Batman?"
He hated to see his old friend like this. Logic told him he should just take him out now and let the police handle the situation. But he had to try to reach him all the same. He had to. "Harvey, it's over," he said. "Put down the gun."
Immediately, he was met with a hail of bullets that tore at his cape. "I'm leaving here with those diamonds. Over your dead body or not."
Bruce didn't have another chance to try to talk him down. The next second, the skylight exploded, heavy glass panes spilling and shattering everywhere around them. The hostages stampeded for the exits again, all shouting and screaming for their lives.
Above the raining glass and numerous voices, an ear-splitting screech resounded around them. A large creature tore through the slowly dissipating smoke, beating it back with its massive wings. Bruce switched his cowl back to a normal view and recoiled at the creature.
It was coated in thick, matted fur and stood head and chest above anyone else in the room. For some reason, despite staring right at it with the moon shining down on the scene and lights all around the room, Bruce couldn't exactly make out any of its features. It seemed to be a midnight black, so that all detail was hidden in shadow and had the build of a giant bat, but the shape wasn't right. The only thing he could see clearly were its eyes. Those blank, lidless eyes were the exact same as the hallucination he saw earlier in the computer. Even without any features, they conveyed an oppressive, vengeful hate.
Its jaw unhinged and it swooped on Two-Face. Before either Bruce or Dick could react, it landed on Two-Face, crushing him into the marble floor with its great bulk. Then it leaned its head back and let loose that awful screech again.
Dick ran for it first. Bruce tried to call out to him, tell him to stay back. Something about the creature was wrong, all wrong, but he didn't even hear his own voice over the loud noise. It pierced his head, echoing in his brain.
Hurling himself at the monster, Dick wrapped his legs around its neck, throwing punch after punch. The creature stumbled backwards off of Two-Face and at first, Bruce believed Dick had it all under control.
The next few seconds happened so fast that he barely recalled it later on.
The creature snatched Dick off of it with its winged arms, holding him high in the air and squeezing tightly, its sharp talons folding over one another. Then it leapt for the skylight and disappeared out of view.
Bruce already had his grappling gun out, shot it at the skylight, and zipped into the night air, ignoring Barbara's panicked voice in his ear. He landed on the rooftop and searched the area before he heard a sudden crash far below.
Running to the rooftop's edge, he fell back as the creature zoomed past him, the powerful air in its wake knocking him over. Bruce scrambled to his feet and ran to the edge, looking over and immediately wishing he hadn't.
Far below, the exiting museum goers and valet attendants were gathered around the row of parked cars in the street. Or rather, one parked car with its roof caved in. Lying in the center was a black-clad figure.
"No." The word seemed distant to him.
Bruce swooped down, dispersing the crowd with his presence. He numbly approached the car, already knowing the answer, but needing to see it for himself anyway. His former charge laid completely motionless and his limbs at odd, unnatural angles, just as the world around him started to slide in and out of focus with every step he took closer. Bruce reached out for the boy's neck and confirmed the worst.
No pulse. Dick was gone.
The next few hours were a foggy haze. Somehow, he made it back to the Bat Cave, Dick's body in his arms, and laid him on one of the medical tables, unsure what to do with it. He looked up at his computer, wondering when he had sat back down at it or taken his cowl off. A series of notifications from Barbara and Alfred appeared in the corner of the screen, but he ignored them.
He dared to turn in his chair and check on the body, as though unable to believe it was real. It felt like being back at his parents' funeral, staring at the casket, willing this all to be some terrible prank or horrible dream.
He swallowed hard and his throat hurt. He touched it again and was surprised to find it still bleeding. Not only that, but his shoulder stung too. A stray piece of glass or bullet, he figured. He would deal with them later.
The most important matter at the moment was that creature. Whatever it was, it was out there and loose in the streets. Vicious as it was, it could easily add to the body count if he didn't hurry. He cast his thoughts back to the museum, his analytical mind filtering out any and all other data except for that monster.
The blank eyes. Dagger-like teeth, or so he thought. Talons, matted fur, and the stature of a giant bat. Was it a bat? That's what it had been. Or at least in the moment. Thinking back on it, the shape of it wasn't right. The ears for one, were too narrow, and it stood like a hulking beast.
Still, there was only one person he knew of that dealt in horrific bats in general. Pulling on his cowl, Bruce strode past the medical table and toward the Batmobile.
"Sir!" Alfred called from the stairs, but he already knew what Alfred would say. To wait, to regroup, take time to mourn. But he didn't have time. He massaged the pain in his shoulder and opened the hood of the car. He hopped in before Alfred finished descending the stairs and sped off into the night.
Kirk Langstrom's laboratory building was completely quiet when he arrived on its rooftop. Bruce checked the sky, as though expecting the creature to suddenly return home. If this was its home.
In the distance, a few of the stars suddenly winked out of existence. Bruce stared harder at the spot, which filled with an inky blackness that grew larger and larger. It came closer to him and he swore he saw a row of bright, white fangs opening wide for him.
Then, as quickly as it appeared, the thing disappeared from the sky and moved behind him. Bruce spun on his heels, Batarang in hand, as Barbara raised her empty palms. "Whoa, whoa! It's me!"
His eyes shifted from side to side, then to the air. The creature was gone. Or it had never been there to begin with. He hadn't imagined it, had he? He almost asked Barbara about it, then decided against it. The last thing he needed to do was appear to be losing his mind in front of anyone.
"Why are you both here?" he asked, tucking away the weapon.
Barbara raised her eyebrow and looked around him. Tim stepped out of the shadows, outfitted for action like she was and scratching his head. "Alfred thought you might need help," he said.
He looked to Barbara for her answer. "Same reason you are. That thing looked too familiar." She stepped closer to him and bit her lip. "Is Dick…Is he…?"
"Yes," Bruce said quietly. A heavy silence lingered between them, one that normally Dick himself would've filled with a quip or something to lighten the mood. Instead, their only solace was a mournful breeze that voiced their own pain and sorrow that they couldn't sink into. Not yet anyway.
As Barbara composed herself, he asked, "What happened to Harvey?"
"His gang was arrested, but they took Harvey to Gotham General." She offered him a sympathetic look. "They didn't sound hopeful."
Bruce stiffly nodded and moved past her to the access door for the rooftop. "You're welcome to wait here."
"Uh-uh," she said, running after him. "I want to find who's responsible."
Tim rushed in behind her. "Me too."
"Fine. But stay behind me."
The stairwell was dark and easy to creep down. The building was only a couple of stories high and Bruce hadn't seen any lights on the first when he arrived. On the second floor, near the corner of the building, a soft glow spilled out of an open laboratory.
Langstrom was hunched over a table, examining slides on a microscope and jotting down notes beside him. Signaling to the others to stay behind, Bruce kicked open the door and swept behind the doctor.
"There's no need for the theatrics," Langstrom said, not even looking up from his microscope. "I heard you from the stairwell."
"That's some impressive hearing." Bruce scanned the items on the table. The same set of beakers and tubes with various chemicals like always, scattered amongst testing equipment. However, something was amiss about the scene. Francine and Dr. March were nowhere to be seen and Langstrom was unkempt, his hair sticking up at odd ends and sporting a few days' worth of stubble.
"An unexpected side effect of my previous transformation." He changed the slide in his microscope. "But a welcome one. I assume you're here about the creature that attacked the museum?"
Bruce grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around, lifting Langstrom off his feet. In the corner of his eye, one of the beakers bubbled on a bunsen burner. The liquid rapidly turned a deep blue, then black, the bubbles lingering on the surface. Again, that misshapen face appeared in some of the bubbles, pressing against the glass, all those blank eyes on him before they popped one by one. Bruce touched his neck reflexively, the wet patch still bleeding beneath his costume.
"It's not me," Langstrom assured him, raising his hands. "Honest."
He answered Langstrom with a tight frown. "Sorry if I don't believe you at your word." Still, he didn't see any evidence to the contrary. After all, last time Francine was the unwitting culprit. For all he knew, Dr. March may have finally taken his turn as the Man-Bat. Reluctantly, he set him back down.
"No, I wouldn't expect you to." Langstrom's pupils were dilated and the whites were bloodshot. He appeared how Bruce felt, up for days without an ounce of rest. Even as he thought it, his back was catching up to him, a terrible, slicing ache running through it.
He grimaced and rolled his shoulders, ignoring his body's evident pleading for rest. "Do you know who or what it is?"
"Funny you should ask. Who? No, I'm afraid not." He strode past Bruce to another desk, rummaging around in drawer. "What it is, I think I may know. I've been studying it for days now."
"It's been loose for days? That can't be possible." A creature that size and of that ferocity would've been all over the police scanners.
"Oh, it's been around a lot longer than that," Langstrom said, a smile twitching at his lips. "For years." The jagged red lines in his eyes disappeared momentarily, along with any other color, and replaced themselves with those horrible white orbs.
Bruce shook his head and adopted an imposing pose, towering over him. "Enough, Langstrom."
"I agree." But the voice wasn't Langstrom's. It was low, chilling, and otherworldly.
Bruce didn't have time to examine it. Langstrom drew a pistol from the drawer, firing at him. Ducking behind one of the desks, he reached into his utility belt and threw down a smoke bomb. Above him, beakers exploded in various chemicals and glass, and he raised his cape high to shield himself.
More gunshots rang out and footsteps darted through the smoke. Bruce followed the sound out of the office and into the hall.
"Batman!" Tim shouted down the passage, pointing at the stairwell. "Up there! She followed him!"
Sprinting after his sidekick, Bruce bashed open the door and fled back up the stairs with Tim. Along the way, they heard a horrible screeching echo through the air, followed by a blood-curdling scream.
Tim froze in place, staring up at him and swallowing hard. "What was that?"
Fearing what he'd find, Bruce opened the door to the roof. It was completely empty. No sign of Barbara, Langstrom, or the beast.
He was about the check the bottom floor when a heavy weight dropped on the roof of the stairwell above them. Bruce glanced at Robin and pointed to the right. The boy nodded and slunk out the door while Bruce reached for the lintel in the frame.
Holding himself up in the air and pumping his body back and forth, he swung himself up and over onto the roof, aiming his feet out for a kick. The creature was faster and dove toward the building's flat roof.
Tim pounced for it, his arm winding up for a punch. The beast swatted him away with one of its large winged appendages like it was shooing off a fly. Bruce hopped down and caught him before he fell off the roof.
He set Tim down and looked at the creature. He still couldn't tell exactly what it was, but its features did sharpen, as though he had grown accustomed to its appearance. Tangled up in the talons of its feet were two articles of clothing. One was the tattered remains of Langstrom's jacket. The other was a shredded cowl and short cape.
Bruce made a choked noise deep in his throat. Not Barbara. Not her too.
Tim noticed the cowl as well and yelled incoherently. Immediately, he shoved away from Bruce and rushed the creature. It moved at a blinding speed, snatching him and throwing him somewhere into the darkness all around them.
"No!" Bruce raced after his ward, but the beast blocked his path. It locked its lidless eyes with him, then a crack of white split through its blackened head. A row of jagged white teeth leered at him.
Bruce spread his legs wide, searching for any way around the creature. The roof was swallowed in darkness and he looked up at the sky. The moon was no longer out and he couldn't see the sky at all. When had that happened?
"What's the matter?" a cold whisper asked him. The very sound wormed its way into his head and chilled him to the marrow. The beast lowered its head, its horrid, dripping fangs spreading apart. "You don't like the shadows?"
"What are you?" Bruce asked slowly.
The creature chuckled softly to itself, a hateful series of beats that reverberated all around him. "Isn't that obvious? I'm the reason everyone you know is dead."
As it spoke, splotchy lumps appeared on its body, stretching and straining against the matted fur on its chest. One started to wiggle around and change color on its lower half, taking on a shade of human skin. As the features morphed and worked their way to completion, Bruce recognized the terrible depiction even before the creature spoke.
"Harvey," it said, naming the head on its chest. In the blink of an eye, half of Harvey's face became scarred and disfigured, glaring at him in an accusing manner.
As he watched, more heads started to appear, more names added to the list. "Richard, Barbara, Tim," all accompanied by their maskless selves and gazing at Bruce.
"And lest we forget," it jerked its head to the center of its mass, where two older heads rested. A matronly woman adorned with diamond earrings and a pearl necklace, and an older gentleman with a thick mustache. "Thomas and Martha."
Even as the faces all watched Bruce, silently judging him, the creature's head molded and morphed until it was clear as day. A ghastly, hideous form of Bruce, complete with his cowl, loomed over him. The cowl was torn at parts, revealing milky white skin and gaunt cheeks, while the eyes bulged like bloated tumors.
"I'm you." Suddenly, a sharp pain raced across his chest and a gash appeared in his outfit. Had the monster struck while he was frozen?
"You're the reason everyone is gone, why everyone will fall." As it spoke, more and more familiar faces broke out of its body – friends and foe alike. Alfred, Gordon, and Catwoman sat alongside the Joker, Riddler, and Poison Ivy. Heads continued to pop out like weeds until the monster's body seemed encased by all the people of Gotham. "Why your precious city will burn."
"No," Bruce grabbed his head, shaking it.
"Yes," the beast said happily. "Your worst fear realized. No matter how much you want to save this city and its people, in the end, you will fail. Gotham City will fall and it will be all your fault."
"No, it's not…my fault…" His fault. No, Gotham needed him. That's why he became the Batman. He could save the city, save everyone. Couldn't he?
"There's nothing you can do to stop it." Another searing slash split across his thigh and Bruce buckled under the pain. "What can a frightened little child playing dress-up do?"
The creature's words echoed around him, drowning out everything else. What could he do? And suddenly, he looked at his hands. They were so small and gloveless. In fact, he was no longer the costumed vigilante, but dressed in simple children's clothes.
In front of him, underneath a powerful street lamp, lay two figures, both tastefully dressed for a pleasant evening out. An evening with their son, tragically cut short in a dirty, dank alleyway.
The beast stomped forward, its clawed feet ringing out like gunshots. What could he do? What could he possibly do?
"Batman." He looked up at the myriad of faces in the monster's chest and spotted Dick's among them. His voice sounded so distant and muffled.
The creature ruffled its body. "Quiet."
"Batman." Barbara's mouth worked hard to move.
"Batman," Tim groaned.
"I said, 'Quiet!'" The beast snapped at its chest.
Bruce looked down at his body. The children's clothes were gone and his suit returned to him. He looked at the sliced sections of his suit, then touched his neck, and things suddenly became clear. He stood up, facing down the creature.
It reared its ugly replica of his head and frowned at him. "What are you doing?" it asked. But there was a note of fear in its voice that hadn't been there before.
"Putting an end to this," Bruce said. He threw back his cape and rushed the beast. It raised his claws, swiping at him, but he rolled away and underneath it. He raised a leg, kicking it hard in the chest, and the monster lifted surprisingly high into the air, falling onto the ground several feet away.
It quickly scrambled to its feet and lowered itself defensively. "No, you can't do this. You can't!"
"Watch me," Bruce said, striding toward it slowly. The creature looked behind it, as if deciding to fly off or not. Bruce started to run toward for the monster, refusing to let it escape again.
The creature made a decision and unfurled its grotesque wings, taking to the air. Bruce was faster and fired his grappling gun, catching the beast around its leg. He was jerked into the air after the creature and far into the inky darkness around them.
Bruce pressed the retract button on the grappling gun, pulling himself closer to the monster. It looked down, its eyes widening in panic, and banked hard to the left and right, trying to throw him off. Bruce held on tight, refusing to let his adversary shake him loose.
When he reached the monster's talons, he reached up, grabbing onto the flapping wings. With as much effort as he had left, he flung himself onto its back. The beast's head swiveled on its neck and chomped at him. He moved aside and punched the replica between the eyes.
Instantly, the face-covered body shuddered and shrunk. The beast's head itself lost some of his features, replacing it with black, wild hair. "Stop it!" it cried.
Bruce raised his fist and delivered another strike. Again, the body lost more mass and the skin became leathery and rotted. "What's the matter?" Bruce asked as more and more of the monster's form receded. "Afraid of what someone playing dress-up can do?"
One more shot and the creature's head drooped to the side. Suddenly, both of them were tumbling into the deep darkness below.
"Hey, he's waking up."
Bruce blinked several times, wincing under the bright lights above him. Blurry blobs moved above him that gradually came into focus. Dick, Barbara, Tim, and Alfred all surrounded him, worry etched on all their faces.
"How are you feeling?" Dick asked.
"Like I was hit by a car," he said, sitting up and groaning as pain raced through his head.
"More like you hit the car," Tim said. "After you brought down their helicopter."
He accepted some painkillers and water from Alfred. His memory was starting to come back to him. "Where's Crane?" he asked, downing the medicine.
"In Arkham," Barbara told him. Then her face fell back again into concern. "We didn't know if you would wake up. You were, well," she trailed off and he looked to the others for an explanation.
"You were out of it," Tim volunteered. "After we finished up with his goons, we came after you. But by then, he had gassed you. You just kept screaming all of our names." He too was watching Bruce, as though fearing he would slip back into another fit.
"Whatever Scarecrow hit you with on that roof was extremely potent," Dick said. "It was touch and go for a while."
He touched his head and examined his body. As he suspected, the same wounds that appeared during the gas-induced hallucination shone starkly against his skin in the white light. They were real, unlike everything else he experienced. He looked at each of them, unsure what to say.
Barbara's phone interrupted them. "It's my dad," she said, checking it. "He's going to kill me for being out this late. I was supposed to be home hours ago."
"Go on then. I'll be fine," he assured her.
As she left, Alfred lorded behind Tim's shoulder. "Speaking of late, I think it's time you went to bed."
The boy looked to Bruce for help, but he smiled and jerked his head to the stairs. Tim grumbled as he put away his costume and climbed the stairs.
"We were dead, weren't we?" Nightwing asked at last. "Or at least I was."
Bruce gripped the table. "Yes."
"Bad?"
The image of his body crumpled and lifeless on the car flashed before Bruce. "Yes."
"Want to talk about it?" He waited for a few moments, receiving nothing but silence. "Figures. If you change your mind, you know my number." With that, he bid them farewell, hopped on his motorcycle, and sped out of the cave.
Bruce rocked back and forth, trying to will himself to stand. The effects of the fear toxin still swirled in his mind though, making the cave tilt from side to side if he tried. His body felt very tired and he wanted nothing more than to sleep.
But Alfred had that look in his eye that he had when prepared to discuss something unpleasant. He didn't want to ask what it was. Because he didn't want to relive the hallucination or confront it. Not now. However, the sooner he did, the sooner Alfred would help him up the stairs. "What?"
"You're wrong, you know. You haven't failed them."
"Did I say that?"
"Not exactly, but I pieced it together. I've known you too long, Master Bruce, and I know that you do think about it from time to time."
Bruce raised an arm and Alfred ducked low, helping him stand on his own feet. A sharp pain spiked through his skull and he shut his eyes against it. Alfred waited for him to start moving before continuing on, taking little steps at a time.
"Sometimes, I wonder," Bruce mumbled.
"If it wasn't for you, they would have lost their way. Each of them. As for Gotham," Alfred scoffed. "Gotham will never fall because of you. You and the others," he threw his head to the stairs and where Dick left, "are the ones giving Gotham a fighting chance." His tone grew more somber. "You're not responsible for anyone's deaths."
Bruce climbed the stairs in silence, gingerly lifting one foot after the other. As they neared the top, he finally asked, "How do you know I won't be responsible someday?"
"That's obvious, Master Bruce. Because you're a good man, just like your parents."
Bruce kept his gaze glued to the floor, pretending to take careful note of the steps as he struggled upwards. He shut his eyes tight again and said with a strained voice, "Thank you, Alfred."
"Anytime, sir. Now let's get you to bed."