Hello, everyone.

So, while I haven't played Suicide Squad: Kill the Justice League, I have read at least a basic plot synopsis as well as a few reviews. And man, reading that synopsis made a little bit of me die inside. I mean, way to shoot the Arkham series in the head by making everybody just so out of character and lifeless. And for this to be Kevin Conroy's last game and for them to treat his last appearance so disrespectfully is just a slap in the face.

I don't care if they have Batman return or not, the way they assassinated their characters, they might as well have killed Batman in front of us. And to make it a live-service game as well is just another spit in the face.

So, let's just say that for this fic, SS:KtJL is non-canon. There will be no Amanda Waller, no A.R.G.U.S., no Task Force X. Nothing that has to do with that game. This fic will only follow through the events from before Arkham Asylum to Arkham Knight, with maybe a 5 year time skip at the end. I might use a couple of elements from KtJL, but that's about it.

R.I.P Kevin Conroy. You did not deserve for this to be your final project.

Got it.

Good.

Onto the story

"You lied to me."

"Hmm?" Crane replied, lost in thought. "Whatever do you mean?"

Becky sighed, breath visible in the blistery cold as they made the slow trek back to their hideout. "Don't play games with me, Jonathan. I'm too tired right now to play them. Why didn't you say that my…condition…might be like yours? I thought you just said that it was like hers, not yours."

"First off, I did not lie to you, not intentionally, anyway," Jonathan corrected. "I was truthful when I said that your condition, as you call it, resembled Friitawa's in structure."

"That's not what I meant," she snapped bitterly, glaring at him. "Why did you give me false hope? You could've just told me that you didn't know what was going on. We could've worked something out, tried to solve this together."

"And what would that accomplish, exactly?" Crane snarked. "It would've had the exact same outcome as tonight."

"But we still would have known and planned around this. This wouldn't come as a mystery and I…I wouldn't have hurt my friends," she said, muttering the last part.

Crane's stiffened, his shoulders slumped. She was right. They really should have tested this the day that they discovered her being like him. But then he thought of the results of his first "accident" and shook his head.

"Impossible. There would have been no way to test this out safely," he concluded quickly, stooping to lift off the manhole that led to the underground subway system. He offered her his hand, gently grasping it as he eased her down into the maintenance tunnel, careful of her wounds as she climbed down from the ladder.

"I don't care if it could have been done safely. If there was a way to prevent this, then we should have taken it," Becky retorted, climbing down onto the abandoned railway.

He looked over at her incredulously as he climbed down, replacing the manhole cover. "Are you even listening to me? Why are you so quick to throw your own life away?" he asked, exasperated, throwing his hands up in disbelief.

"Better than going in blind and risk killing everyone else," she retorted, continuing on her way, leaving him to catch up to her.

"Do you even realize what you're asking? You're really asking me to…to…" he cut himself off, struggling to even say the words.

"To what? What could be so horrible that even you, the Master of Fear, would balk at it?" she snapped, turning around and pointing her finger in his face.

"Because you'd be asking me to kill you," he said softly, his voice fluttery with fear.

Becky's eyes widened as she stopped dead in her tracks.

She had seen many emotions from Jonathan Crane, both before her time working with him and after it. Anger, pride, frustration, triumph, shock, surprise, even the rare bashfulness when he had tried to surprise her with a date. But she had almost never seen him so fearful.

Sure, she had seen him under the effects of fear toxin, but this was different from the panic, wide eyed screaming and frantic movements while under its influence. This was the fear of losing something, something beyond precious.

A fear she had only seen once before.

"Are you afraid to lose me?" she asked, her hand reaching out and clutching his. "Is that what this is about?"

He was silent for a long moment before he rasped out a barely audible "Yes."

She sighed, embracing him as she rested her head on his chest. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said something like that. Is that why I don't remember anything after that song? Did I…"

He tugged her closer to him, tears in his eyes. "Yes," he said, one of his hands reaching up to cradle her head as the other tightened around her waist.

She pulled away from him just a bit to look into his eyes. "Is that what happened to you? When you first…"

He nodded, pulling her closer once again. "Do you remember the long scar down my back? The one you saw when we were at Hush's hideout?"

She nodded against his chest. "Was that how you…how you died?" she asked, stammering as she tried to stomach his confession.

"Yes," he replied, feeling her tears trail down his tux, ripped and dirty from the previous scuffle at the Lounge. "And that is why I couldn't do that to you."

She closed her eyes, taking comfort in his scent. "I understand. I won't ask that of you again."

He smiled softly, closing his eyes as well as they stood there embracing.

"Thank you."

The mysterious man watched as the Scarecrow and his henchwomen entered the underground tunnels, hopping down from his perch on the roof of a dilapidated pawn shop.

Despite the damage his mask sustained in the fight against Deadshot, he didn't dare remove it. There were far too many eyes still watching, even though the first rays of dawn had only just barely shown over the towering skyscrapers of the city and many of the city's residents were either still asleep or just waking up.

He had repaired it as best as he could at the moment, using a spare piece of a discarded hubcap as a hastily taped together cover, the narrow opening just barely wide enough for him to see through.

I have to admit; I underestimated just how important that girl is, he thought, a sly smile on his face. If I realized what she could do, I probably would have recruited her before Strawface.

While it irked him that Lawton had gotten away in the confusion, it was lessened by the discovery of the woman's potential. It wasn't often that a new metahuman would pop up in Gotham, much less one with such raw, untrained power like her. Perhaps she would make a useful ally? After all, he had need for more men in his army, especially if he was to go after Batman and his pathetic little family.

Well, all save one.

"Stay safe out there, Barbara. I won't let that monster hurt you again," he vowed under his breath. He took out his grapnel gun, aimed it at the next nearby rooftop, and fired, following the underground trail that the two villains would take as he tracked them towards their hideout.

Batman stared at the computer in the Batcave listlessly, his fingers drumming on the table by the console as he tried to focus on the report.

He knew he was only delaying the inevitable. It was only a matter of time before Alfred would drag him upstairs for dinner and 'family time', as he called it, with Tim and Dick. Yet, despite the growling in his stomach, he couldn't find it in himself to eat.

He turned his head as he heard the elevator to the Batcave open.

"If you're here to bring me food, then I'm not hungry," he rumbled, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes.

"Master Bruce, you need to at least eat something. You haven't eaten anything since dinner last night," Alfred replied, concern in his voice as he walked over to his charge.

"Like I said, I'm not hungry," Batman sighed wearily.

Alfred frowned, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Is this about Jason?"

Batman stiffened at the name, turning away from him as he refused to answer.

Alfred sighed, walking off to the side to pull a chair up beside the desk, glancing at the framed photograph of a younger Jason with Bruce Wayne. "You know what happened to him wasn't your fault."

He was silent, before quietly muttering "…I should have at least done something more."

"You did all you could for him, Master Bruce. You took him in when no one else did. You helped put him through school, gave him a purpose to strive for when he began to fall back into drugs and crime, and taught him all you could about how to help people. You can't hold yourself responsible for his actions," Alfred gently reminded him, a hand on his shoulder as he turned the man away from the screen and towards him.

"And yet, I'm the one who got him killed," Bruce said grimly. He glanced at the cavity in the wall that contained an empty stand and bust. To its left and right side hung Robin costumes, with the labels Dick Grayson and Tim Drake underneath the stands. Underneath the empty stand, however, was the label of Jason Todd, with the date of birth and the date of death underneath it.

"His death was not your fault," Alfred said firmly, directing Bruce's head to look him in the eyes. "Did you send him into danger by having him confront the Joker?"

"No…" he replied, his eyebrow raised as he wondered where Alfred was going with this.

"Did you turn off his comm or his tracer while out on a mission?"

"No."

"Did you give up on searching for him?" Alfred asked again, his face stoic.

"Only when I exhausted every lead I could find," Bruce replied, finally meeting Alfred's eyes.

"You did everything you could. Do not blame yourself. I know that this day is hard for you, but you must not punish yourself for something outside of your control."

Bruce nodded, straightening. "You're right, Alfred. The Joker only wins if I let his death be in vain."

Alfred smiled, pleased. "I know you won't let his death be in vain. Now, I believe it is about time for dinner, and I don't believe I will take no for an answer this time, sir. Even if I have to drag you."

Bruce smirked, logging off of the computer. "While I would like to see you try, I don't think that would put me in your good graces anytime soon. I'll come willingly."

Alfred nodded, chuckling, gesturing towards the lift in an 'after you' gesture.

With a teasing smile, Bruce rolled his eyes and entered the elevator, Alfred following close behind him.