The cave felt heavy, the silence broken only by dripping droplets, the hum of computers and the sound of fists meeting leather. Damian was pounding away at the punching bag on the platform above us. No doubt making up for all the dodges I'd fed him during training.

Helena shifted nervously on her feet, staring down at her hands. I stood awkwardly near her, my arms crossed, trying not to think about the fact that I'd just revealed my entire alien backstory to her a few minutes ago.

I could hear her breathing—quick, shallow. She cleared her throat, then again. "Look," she started. "About earlier... when I snapped at you—" Her eyes flicked up to Batman and immediately back down. "I shouldn't have. I was out of line. Sorry."

It was weird seeing her like this—less sass, more... hesitant. For a second, I thought maybe Bruce hadn't heard her. He didn't move. Then he made this low noise, half grunt, half hum.

Helena squared her shoulders. "Okay, so, uh… while we're clearing the air," she said. "Why didn't you just tell me sooner?"

Batman didn't turn. His fingers tapped something on the console.

"It wasn't my secret to tell," he said flatly.

"Right," I said, crossing my arms tighter. "Because you're so big on boundaries."

Helena glanced at me, a warning look in her eyes, but I didn't care. He wasn't my father, and I wasn't about to play the obedient son.

"You trust me enough to go chasing psychos in the middle of the night, but not enough to let me know the guy sitting next to me in Crim class can crush stone with his bare hands?"

"You're—" Batman stopped himself, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Trust is fragile," he said instead. "If I broke it with you," he turned to face me. "I'd never get it back. And I can't afford that."

I swallowed hard. Of course, that was it. He wasn't worried about protecting me. He was worried about what would happen if I flipped. I opened my mouth to argue, but Helena beat me to it. "Then why'd you tell Damian?"

"I didn't. Damian found out on his own."

Helena rolled her eyes. "Figures," she said, crossing her arms. "Alright. So what's the plan now?"

Batman turned back to the monitors, and a few clicks later, a blueprint flashed on the screen. The outline of a modest house surrounded by trees.

"This is a safehouse," he said. "Near the backwoods of Kane Forest. Once your mother is discharged, you'll both relocate here. Fully stocked, secure. No one gets in without authorization."

I gaped. "You're serious?"

"Yes." Bruce didn't look at me, just kept typing, like he hadn't just handed me the first real shot at safety my mom and I had ever had.

"Right," I muttered, dragging a hand down my face. "Okay. Sure. That makes perfect sense. Move my mom to some secret Bat-bunker in the woods. Why?" The question slipped out before I could stop it. It wasn't a small investment. Why the hell would Batman go to that length for someone like me?

His hands stilled, resting on the edge of the keyboard. "Because she deserves to be safe," he said. "And so do you."

I frowned. "Safe from who? Jake? He's got nothing left. I won't let him hurt us anymore."

"Jake is done," he said evenly. "But you know what he did. The people he dealt with… they know about you now. Even if they've agreed to stay away, there's no guarantee they won't change their minds or use your mother to force your hand. It wouldn't take much to trace everything back to her."

That thought lit a fire under my skin. They'd hurt her, use her, and I'd be the reason why. "So this isn't just about Jake…"

"No," Bruce admitted. "These people have taken an interest in what you can do. They'll use whatever leverage they can find. If they can't get to you, they'll go after her." He gestured to the blueprint on the screen. "This eliminates that possibility."

My gaze dropped to the floor. Damn it. Why did he have to be so good at making you feel both a charity case and an ungrateful asshole at the same time?

Helena touched my arm lightly. "Clark. This is a good thing."

"Yeah," I said hoarsely, still staring at the blueprint. "I know. Thanks… Bruce."

He gave the barest of nods and for a moment, the silence settled again, broken only by the thud-thud of Damian's punches overhead.

I glanced at the monitor, then back at Bruce. "While we're here," I started. "I want to find the guy who put her in that hospital in the first place. You have any intel on this clown? I know the cops are stretched thin, but how the hell does he keep evading them?"

Bruce's hands didn't flinch, but I saw his posture stiffen slightly.

"Helena and I have been digging around," I continued. "He's operating closer and closer to the center of the Narrows. We could patrol there. Together. Cover more ground."

"No."

I blinked, caught off guard by the abruptness. "What do you mean, 'no'?"

"You're not ready for patrol," Bruce turned to face me fully.

"Not ready?" Heat rose in my chest. "The guy can't hurt me! I don't need five years of training to drag a psycho to the police station by the throat!"

"That's not how this works," Bruce simply replied.

I stepped closer, my hands curling into fists. "How does it work, then? Huh? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like the Joker's running the damn city while everyone sits around waiting for his next victim!"

"Clark." A warning.

"No, screw that!" My hands were trembling now from the sheer force of keeping myself from snapping. "Every second we waste, he's out there hurting more people. And I'm not gonna sit on my ass while he gets away with it."

"You'll only make things worse," Bruce replied coldly. "If you go out there unprepared, people will die. And it'll be on you."

"I can't just do nothing!"

"You'll do what I tell you," Bruce stated. "Or you'll stay out of it entirely."

"Yeah, well, newsflash—I don't answer to you."

Helena finally moved. "Clark!" she hissed.

"Fine, if you won't help me." I turned to get out of the cave. " I'll find him myself."

My eyes flared for a split second, the faint glow of my x-ray vision sweeping over Pete's apartment. Clear. No visitors.

I slowed my pace just enough to crack open the door without shattering it, sliding in fast enough to avoid catching the attention of any nosy neighbors. The last thing I needed was to get spotted dressed like this.

The sound of a bat hitting a ball reached my ears, followed by the roar of the crowd on TV. Pete was sprawled on the couch, a bowl of popcorn balanced precariously on his lap. Seemed like the Gotham Knights were taking a beating from the Blüdhaven Ravens.

Pete glanced over his shoulder as I stepped into the room. His eyebrows shot up so fast I thought they might hit the ceiling. "Yo. What in the hell is that?"

I smirked, stepping further into the room and crossing my arms over the chestplate. "Tactical gear," I said casually, like it wasn't Batman's personal design.

Pete sat up so fast his soda wobbled dangerously on the table next to him. "Tactical gear? Man, you look like you're about to storm Area 51 or somethin'. Wait. This ain't yours, is it?"

I shrugged, leaning against the wall. "Borrowed it."

His jaw dropped, and for a second, I thought the popcorn bowl might follow. "Borrowed it? From who? Don't tell me you straight-up lifted this from Batman!"

I gave him a pointed look.

"No. Freaking. Way." Pete's grin spread across his face. "You deadass 'borrowed' the Bat's gear? Clark, you've got some serious balls, man."

"Relax," I said, rolling my eyes as I pushed off the wall. "He doesn't need it right now."

Pete shook his head, still chuckling. "This is why you're my guy. Always keeping it interesting. I swear, one of these days you're gonna give me a heart attack."

I dropped into the armchair across from him, resting my elbows on my knees as I exhaled.

Pete's grin faded slightly as he took me in. "So," he said, "what's the plan tonight? Don't suppose you're tired from all that training, huh?"

My smirk faded. "I need to find the Joker, Pete."

His brow furrowed. "Again?" He set the popcorn bowl on the coffee table. "Man, you've been out every night. When do you even sleep? If you weren't bulletproof, I'd think you were trying to kill yourself."

I snorted. "Good thing I am, then."

"Yeah, no kidding." Pete shot me a look, one part annoyed, two parts genuinely concerned. "Still, that guy's dangerous, Clark. I mean, not to you, obviously, but you know what I'm saying."

"Yeah, I know."

"But still, you think he's just gonna sit still and let you drag him to Arkham?"

"No," I said. "But somebody's got to stop him."

Pete narrowed his eyes. "And that 'somebody' has to be you, huh? What about Batman? That dude already got dibs on the whole 'Gotham's savior' thing, right?"

I shrugged, my hands tightening into fists on my knees. "Yeah, well, Batman's out there playing a slow game, while the Joker's blowing up the damn board. I'm done waiting around for another massacre."

Pete let out a low whistle. "Damn, you've got that martyr complex bad. Look, you've been on this dude's trail for weeks. You think this is the night you actually catch him?"

I held his gaze, my jaw tightening. "Doesn't matter if it's tonight or not. I'm not stopping until I do."

Peter reached for his soda. "Well, if you're gonna do it, at least do it on a full stomach. There's pizza in the kitchen. And, uh, Clark?"

I glanced up, already halfway to standing. "Yeah?"

"If you see that psycho..." Pete hesitated for just a second. "Give him a good one-two for me, alright? Hit him hard."

I grinned faintly as I turned toward the kitchen. "Oh, he's gonna feel it, trust me."

I crouched at the edge of a crumbling rooftop, one boot braced against the ledge, scanning the streets below. It was the same grimy mess as always. People stumbling out of bars, junkies huddled in alleyways, and the occasional flash of a patrol car's lights.

I closed my eyes, letting the city's noise filter through me. I'd practiced this a thousand times—shutting out the static and zeroing in on the sound I wanted. Mom's laugh used to be my anchor when I was a kid, back when I'd sneak out to find her at the diner. I could always pick her soft voice out of the crowd.

But now, I wasn't searching for comfort. I was looking for him.

I focused harder. Voices came in like a tide, overlapping and receding: a couple arguing in Spanish, a guy hawking knockoff watches, someone shouting about a stolen wallet. If he laughed, if he so much as spoke, I'd find him.

Nothing.

I opened my eyes, frustration prickling at the back of my neck. Alright, time to change tactics.

I scanned the block in front of me, narrowing my focus to two parallel streets: Narrows East and Dagger Lane. If he was here, I'd see him.

Activating my x-ray vision, I peeled back the layers of the city one wall at a time. My gaze cut through brick and mortar, plaster and steel, revealing the lives hidden behind it.

A family crammed into a one-room apartment, the mother trying to feed a screaming toddler.

Two men rolling dice in a dingy basement, their faces tight with concentration.

An old woman asleep in front of a flickering TV, the photo of a long-dead husband clutched in her hand.

No sign of him.

I shifted to the next block, then the next. The faces blurred together, one after another, like flipping through the pages of an endless photo album.

Still nothing.

I stopped, exhaling sharply, and rubbed the bridge of my nose. Damn it. I'd been at this for over two hours, and I had nothing to show for it.

Fine. Back to the voices.

Closing my eyes again, I leaned forward on the rooftop, my fingers curling around the gritty edge. The noise hit me in waves but none of it was right.

I clenched my fists, bits of concrete crumbling under my gloves. My patience was running out.

For all I knew, the Joker was planning another carnage right now and I was just sitting here, completely useless.

"Come on," I muttered under my breath. "Just give me something."

I started pacing, the frustration boiling in my chest making it hard to think.

Then it hit me.

A smell.

It was faint at first, almost drowned out by the city's usual stench of exhaust fumes, garbage, and piss. But it was there. A chemical tang, sour and wrong.

I inhaled deeply, flaring my nostrils, sifting through the layers of scent like I'd been taught to do with sound. Sweat, gasoline, fried food... and there it was again. The same biting, artificial odor, weaving its way through the Narrows.

What the hell is that?

I leapt to the next rooftop in a single bound, the concrete cracking slightly on landing. I crouched low, scanning the streets below with a mix of x-ray vision and heat detection. A man shuffled along an alleyway, holding his ribs. A group of teens leaned against a graffitied wall, passing around a cigarette. None of them matched the smell.

The scent grew stronger, leading me east. I ran faster now, the wind whipping past my face as the city blurred beneath me. I jumped again, clearing a gap that would've sent most people plummeting to their deaths.

It was leading me somewhere.

I landed on a fire escape, the rusted metal groaning under my weight as my eyes scanned the dark alley below. A thin, sickly mist was creeping out from under a steel door at the far end, pooling around the base like fog rolling off a lake.

That's where it was coming from.

I dropped down silently, and focused my hearing, listening through the steel door. Voices filtered through—two men, maybe three, laughing. But the laughter wasn't right. It was too loud, too shrill, like nails scraping against glass. My stomach tightened. The mist brushed against my face, but it couldn't hurt me.

Laughing gas. Of course, it's fucking laughing gas.

The Joker's calling card.

My jaw clenched as I stepped back, sizing up the door. Rusted hinges, cheap steel. It wouldn't take much.

I kicked it.

It flew inward with a crash. The room beyond was dimly lit, the air thick with the same choking gas. Two men spun toward me, their laughter cutting off abruptly. They weren't armed, but their wide-ass grins made my stomach twist. Their pupils were blown, their heads twitching like broken toys.

And in the middle of the room, slumped in a battered chair was a man. His face was pale, his eyes glassy, and his lips curled into a rictus grin that sent a cold spike of rage through my chest.

"Where is he?" I snarled.

Neither of them answered. One started giggling. The other one just stared, his grin frozen like it had been stapled there.

I stepped forward, grabbing the giggler by the collar and hauling him into the air, his feet dangling a foot off the ground. His grin faltered for a moment before the gas seemed to take hold again, sending him into another fit of giggles.

"Where the hell is he?!"

His grin twitched wider as his eyes rolled back. Goddamn it, was he even conscious enough to understand me?

I dropped him unceremoniously, his legs crumpling under him as he hit the floor in a heap. My gaze shot to the second guy.

"You," I snapped. "Talk."

The second man's grin quivered, his body shaking with laughter that didn't sound human. "You're too late," he wheezed. "He's already gone."

"Bullshit." My jaw clenched as I took a step forward.

"He left you a gift," the man singsonged, tilting his head toward the back of the room.

I followed his gaze, my eyes narrowing as they locked onto a crate shoved against the far wall. I stepped over the guy still sprawled on the floor and stalked toward the dark corner.

I didn't need to open it to know it wasn't good.

X-ray kicked in automatically, revealing a tangle of wires and tubes. My stomach dropped when I spotted the timer, red numbers ticking down.

00:15

00:14

00:13

"Shit," I muttered, stepping back.

I glanced back at the two men. These guys might just be unlucky bastards who'd wandered into the wrong place at the worst possible time.

Hell, for all I knew, they didn't even realize what was going on. The Joker's gas didn't just mess with your body. It scrambled your brain, made you lose track of reality.

They weren't going anywhere.

The gas was heavier now, clawing at my throat, my lungs, but I ignored it, my mind racing. I couldn't leave them to blow up with that thing. Not unless I wanted to see their faces burned into my brain for the rest of my life.

I gritted my teeth, hauling the crate against my chest and scanned the room for the fastest way out.

00:06.

The doorway I came through? No way. Too narrow, the crate wouldn't pass.

I turned, my x-ray vision snapping on, penetrating the wall to my left. Plaster. Brick. Steel pipes. It would hold for a normal guy. But me?

00:05.

"Alright," I muttered under my breath, adjusting my grip on the crate. "Shortcut it is."

I braced one foot against the floor and launched forward, slamming through the wall like it was cardboard. The impact sent a shockwave rippling through the building, chunks of brick and steel crashing down behind me as I hit the open air.

The night swallowed me whole, the cold wind tearing at my face as I twisted mid-leap. The crate vibrated in my arms.

00:04.

I hit the adjacent rooftop hard, sending bits of concrete everywhere. Momentum carried me forward, and I sprang again, clearing the next gap with ease.

00:03.

One more jump. This time, I pushed everything I had into it, the kind of strength I usually kept locked down tight. The wind roared past me as I rocketed upward, higher than I'd ever dared before.

The smoggy skyline fell away, replaced by the endless stretch of night sky. For a moment, it was just me, the stars, and that goddamn ticking crate.

00:02.

I twisted my body and hurled the crate as hard as I could, watching it vanish into the dark. It felt like throwing a shot put with every ounce of strength in my body, the metal warping under my grip before I let go.

00:01.

The explosion lit up the sky, a bloom of green and yellow gas spiraling outward like a poisonous firework. The shockwave slammed into me mid-air, knocking me sideways.

I twisted, stabilizing myself just in time to hit the edge of a rooftop. My knees buckled on impact, breaking some more concrete as I crouched low. Dust and bits of debris scattered around me like shattered glass. I hope people didn't check the state of these roofs too often, or I'd have some explaining to do.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself, and turned back toward the alley. It was empty. Those men were gone, either dragged off by the gas or smart enough to run the moment I left. But the Joker? He couldn't be far.

I focused all my senses at once. He thought he was messing with Batman. Or some other caped vigilante who played by rules. He had no clue what was coming.

That's when I heard it.

That voice. Slightly raspy and laced with that sick kind of glee. It matched.

"...little surprise for our friend..."

My head snapped in the direction it came from, my heartbeat spiking. I could feel the adrenaline surging, sharpening everything. I narrowed my focus, tuning out everything but him. I let my eyes zoom in, tearing through walls, room by room, floor by floor.

And there he was.

Hunched in a dingy, dim room, his greasy green hair was plastered to his head. The clown makeup was smeared, the painted grin somehow more unsettling than the real one. The one I'd only ever seen in newscasts and nightmares.

In his hands, something glinted. Something that looked too much like another bomb.

My entire body locked up.

There.

For a second, I froze, my breath catching in my throat. I couldn't believe it. I'd found him. The bastard was right there, not more than a few walls away.

And now? Now I had to figure out how the hell to play this.

A pit of nerves twisted in my gut, but I shoved it down hard. I couldn't afford to screw this up. I clenched my fists, grounding myself, then closed my eyes for half a second to force my thoughts into something resembling order.

When I opened them, everything clicked into place.

No hesitation.

I blurred into motion.

A/N: Hey everyone! I've added new art to most chapter headers over on my W ttpad account (Outback-1). Take a look if you want a better feel for the story's settings and vibe. Also, I gave chapters 1 and 3 a bit of a facelift. Hopefully, they flow smoother now. Let me know what you think!

Likes and comments mean the world to me. They seriously keep me going and make me ridiculously happy. They're the best motivation to keep writing, so thank you in advance!