Batman fell to his knees with a pained grunt. Spitting blood on the ground he looked up in a blur, catching a glimpse of two demonic figures looming menacingly over him and continuing to taunt him.
Two Face and Scarecrow. His rational mind usefully reminded him, despite the high amount of pain, confusion and daze he felt. It is only them. Their forms are not real. The rest I see does not exist. It is not real.
Batman tried to get back up but the mere attempt gave him painful twinges throughout his body, no matter how hard he tried his best to ignore the physical agony he was feeling, and he broke out in a fit of violent blood coughing.
It wasn't supposed to go this way
There had been a breakout from Arkham Asylum the night before and the former prosecutor and the former psychology professor had escaped from the asylum. Batman had spent that patrol and the entire next day gathering clues about where the two criminals had been hiding and had eventually discovered that Two Face had chosen as his secret hideout an abandoned building that had formerly served as a hospital, which had been disused for more than a decade.
The Caped Crusader was prepared to face his longtime enemy along with his henchmen. What he did not expect was that, during the fight with about twenty of Dent's henchmen, another dozen of the Scarecrow's henchmen along with Crane himself suddenly entered the battle.
There was no clue that could have revealed to him the unexpected collaboration between the two.
Making matters worse was the fact that a familiar greenish gas began to leak from the vents. Unfortunately, not only were Crane's henchmen already obviously wearing rebreathers that protected them but Dent's henchmen were also carrying rebreathers and began wearing them once they saw the fear toxin.
The same thing could not be said for the vigilante.
In fact, as soon as the fear toxin began to spread through the room, while Two Face's henchmen donned their rebreathers the Scarecrow's men in a cunning move simultaneously surrounded and assaulted the hero, forcing him not only to defend himself but also to inhale the gas.
Batman never had time to put on the rebreather as he was busy fighting the Scarecrow's henchmen and later also those of Two Face who joined in the fight as soon as they had donned the rebreathers.
Never mind that Bruce could have fired the grappling hook and moved as far away from the battle as possible to have enough time to put on the rebreather to lessen the effects of the fear toxin and to think of a strategic tactic that would let him win with fewer wounds on him.
With much effort, the Dark Knight managed to emerge victorious from the violent and bloody battle against simultaneously about 30 thugs with his body full of gunshot wounds, broken and cracked ribs, sore arms and legs, concussion, scratches and stab wounds, broken bones and more.
Bruce ignored how he could have easily avoided most of the injuries he suffered. He suffered and endured kicks, punches, stabs, gunshots, blows when it would have been easy for him to avoid them. This was because there was no reason for him to survive. He had no real connection so deep that he would continue to live.
Neither Alfred nor Lucius nor Jim nor Leslie nor Selina nor Clark nor Diana nor the others in the JL were enough.
None of them were enough.
Bruce did not care if he died in a dirty alley like his parents or in some abandoned place.
He didn't care at all if he lived or died.
Once he fiercely took down his enemies, Batman felt his energies abandon him, giving way to the agony and physical pain that filled every fiber of his entire body previously replaced by the adrenaline that allowed him to fight relentlessly with all the wounds on him as if they were not there but vanished at that moment.
A female voice suddenly spoke.
"Look what a disappointment we have here."
That voice tugged at the heartstrings of Batman who looked up sharply and through his blurred vision saw none other than the broken and bloodied body of Martha Wayne, her empty eyes staring back at him as if he were the world's worst disappointment.
The vigilante's body was shot through with several uncomfortable chills that caused him to cough up more blood. When he looked up again at his mother she is only a hallucination because his real mother was killed, that tiny part of his mind that was currently lucid reminded himshe was flanked by Thomas Wayne, his body battered and his eyes as blank as his wife's.
"You are right, dear. A real son would not have let us die. And look at him now: completely at the mercy of two criminals whom he should easily defeat." Thomas taunted Bruce whose heart broke further. "How pathetic."
"He is not at all worthy of being a Wayne or even of calling himself a hero." Martha added in a voice so scornful and full of disgust that it made Batman wince painfully. "So weak."
I'm sorry! I know it was my fault! Forgive me!Bruce wanted to scream but could not as suddenly his throat became dry, preventing him from even opening his mouth. I'm sorry! I'm sorry for being a bad son and letting you die! I really am! Please forgive me!
"You are a disappointment." the billionaire's body stiffened further, being able to always recognize that familiar British accent. "You're just a pathetic disappointment, Master Bruce." repeated the hallucination of Alfred Pennyworth who stared at him with nothing but disgust, coldness and hatred that ripped through the vigilante's entire being. "I never wanted to raise you. I never wanted to raise the most spoiled, irritating, weak child I have ever known. I never wanted to be trapped with a burden like you to the point of losing the opportunity to have real relationships with my real family in England. The only reason I raised you is because I owed it to Master Thomas and Mistress Martha."
"It's not real. It's not." Batman muttered weakly, attempting to rise to his feet but the attempt ended with him falling back to his knees with a pained grunt. "It's not real." he continued to mutter, trying to keep it straight in his mind but the pain, blurred vision and confusion made it quite difficult.
Later the vigilante had to deal with hallucinations of Leslie, Jim, Lucius, Selina, Clark, Diana and the others in the JL who kept reiterating how he is a total lousy friend and lover and hero, a poisonous person who corrupted everything he came in contact with, how he did not deserve the love he received from everyone at all since he kept rejecting it abruptly, that he deserved to die since his life was worth less than zero and much more.
I know this! I know all this! I know I do not deserve your love and friendship at all! I know that I am unworthy! I know that I am poisonous! I know I am one of the worst people in the world! I know that I am irremediably shattered and broken! I know I am surrounded by a darkness that is sucking up my life energy! I-I'm sorry!
I'm sorry...
I'm sorry...
I'm sorry that no matter how hard you try, none of you is and ever will be enough to push me out of the darkness to allow me to live like a normal human being.
Bruce was abruptly redeemed from his spiral of depression when his gaze fell on a pair of people with whom he never had the luxury of acquaintance but whom he had nonetheless deeply disappointed.
"You have failed us, Bruce." coldly stated John Grayson, his body broken and bloodied like his parents with the only difference being that his bones and joints protruded in an entirely unnatural way. "You promised you would take care of our son but you never did."
"And now because of you our son has been missing for about ten years and is almost certainly dead." Mary Grayson added, blood and tears streaming mingled from her empty eyes. " My son, my beautiful sunny son, my little Dickie, is dead. And it is solely your fault."
I am so sorry! Bruce sobbed violently, reaching the limit of his resistance. The dam broke and tears began to form in his eyes. I tried! I swear! I-
"You abandoned me." Bruce stopped suddenly and a series of shivers ran through his body as his gaze fell on the tiny but equally broken figure of a seven-year-old boy, his eyes no longer so blue and bright but replaced by empty sockets. "You promised you would find me. You promised that you would do everything to find me. That nothing would stand in the way and prevent the mighty Dark Knight from finding me. That you would take care of me. That you would help me.
"But you didn't. You abandoned me. You left me. Just when I needed you most. You never found me. You did not save me. You left me to my fate of suffering. I am merely one of Gotham's many archived cases. I am merely one of Gotham's many missing children who has never been found.
"This is all your fault. You have failed me."
Those words definitely ripped into the heart of Batman who emitted a heartbreaking, anguished, sobbing, choked and pained scream, the air being expelled abruptly from his lungs to the point that he felt the latter begin to burn.
Those words hurt infinitely more than every single punch, kick, shot, stab, broken bone, cracked and broken ribs, concussion and more that Batman had suffered.
The vigilante felt as if someone had ripped open his rib cage and torn his heart into a thousand pieces, as if every fiber of his being throbbed with so much pain and agony and suffering and heartbreak and pangs and despair and anguish that the only thing Bruce wanted was for that feeling to end once and for all.
Dick Grayson's case was Bruce's greatest failure.
The seven-year-old boy had disappeared after the death of his parents and no one could find out what happened to him or where he was. The best detective in the world could never find a single tiny clue that could have opened at least one lead for him to check out.
Nothing.
Zero clues.
Zero testimonies.
Zero leads to follow.
Absolute nothingness.
It was as if Dick had disappeared into thin air without leaving even a trace.
The only thing he knew was that Dick was talking to a strange tall, slim man who, however, no one knew and was virtually impossible to identify as he wore sunglasses and dark clothes that seemed to make him become one with the shadows.
Batman would soon discover that the sad death of the Flying Graysons was not by accident but was an actual murder caused by the mobster Tony Zucco. The vigilante had found the evidence he needed to have Zucco arrested but there was only one problem.
Zucco had also disappeared.
And his body was found months after his disappearance.
After Zucco's body was found, many murders followed throughout Gotham, ranging from the elite social class to petty criminals to other innocents. Batman split his time between these murders -to which he would never find the person responsible- and the case of the young acrobat's disappearance, focusing more on the latter case.
The Dark Knight worked persistently and incessantly on his case, spending a great deal of his energy, hours of sleep and resources in a completely obsessed and uninterrupted manner. During that period it often happened that Alfred would go so far as to drug his food to force the younger man to rest a few hours otherwise Bruce would continue to work on Dick's disappearance without ever resting.
Those were literally the only times he rested, even if against his will.
At that time, moreover, Batman devoted much more time to detective work than to patrols, excluding episodes of extreme necessity such as the escape of some super-villain from Arkham Asylum. He had literally terrorized the criminal world to death in an attempt to find some clue or lead about Dick Grayson or the strange man but no one knew anything.
It was the case that the vigilante had worked on the most and was most obsessed with to the point that he was still working on it, no matter that it had been about ten years since the child's disappearance and that the hopes of finding him alive were practically below zero.
He would spend most of his time on the case at hand, no matter that he could not find a lead. Virtually all the potential hours of rest that he could have used were instead spent fruitlessly searching for evidence, clues and leads. After all, he spent every day in the Manor and had not shown his face to the public in a few years: in fact, he had even left Wayne Enterprises completely in the competent hands of Lucius and spent most of his time in the cave, with bats as his only company.
Alfred over the years had suggested to him to drop the case as it only made him more restless and obsessed, made him lose so many hours of sleep and only pushed him further into the darkness into which he had sunk even before the disappearance of the seven-year-old boy. The billionaire had lashed out so fiercely at his butler that that was the only time Alfred suggested it to him.
Bruce was so desperate that he had even asked the Justice League for help by presenting the case to them but although they promised to do their research and help him to the best of their ability, they never managed to find a single clue or lead on Dick either.
No magic or human or nonhuman technology could locate the young acrobat.
Whoever had kidnapped Dick Grayson was so skilled and dangerous to the point that they escaped not only the best detective in the world but also the entire fucking Justice League, the most advanced technology in existence and the most powerful magic users on Earth without leaving a single fucking trace.
The thought of what the poor seven-year-old boy who had just been orphaned and personally witnessed his parents' deaths in front of his eyes had endured terrified and still terrified Bruce more than anything else in the world to the point of giving him his worst nightmares all these years.
Bruce had failed John, Mary and especially Dick.
Dick's disappearance was his greatest failure of his entire career as a hero and of his entire life.
Not a single day went by since the acrobat's disappearance that Bruce did not think about the child, where he was, what he had suffered and most of all whether he was still alive.
Bruce had known the answer to the latter question for years but pretended he did not know and buried it in the furthest reaches of his mind, deciding to sink in instead on the case at hand.
However, Bruce never gave up.
Bruce had to find Dick Grayson.
Bruce had to find out what had happened to the little acrobat in order to give him the justice he so much deserved.
Bruce owed it to John and Mary Grayson but most of all to Dick himself.
Batman did not know how long it had been since he began hallucinating but it was probably only a few minutes, although it seemed like an eternity to him. He tried again to stand upright and with much effort and struggle succeeded, although his legs shook violently.
The hero stared ahead just in time to see the butt of a gun approaching him. Unfortunately, the vigilante lacked reflexes and instincts and it connected violently with his cowl-protected temple, causing him to fall backwards to the ground with a grunt of pain.
The blow was such that it sent him straight into the world of unconsciousness, having only seconds before he passed out completely. His last thoughts focused neither on the knowledge that he would die shortly thereafter at the hands of Two Face and Scarecrow nor on the fact that he would never see Alfred, Lucius, Jim, Selina, Leslie, the JL again nor on the fact that he might finally be reunited with his parents.
No.
His last thoughts were entirely on something else.
I'm so sorry, Dick. I'm so sorry.