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Gotham – City – Batcave
Present
02:55 (City) – 03:21 (Batcave)
The Batcycle roared through Gotham’s streets, the cold night air whipping past as Batgirl and Spoiler raced toward their destination. They had just left Arkham Asylum after helping the victims and aiding with securing the other inmates. Speeding towards Joker’s last known location, a diner on the east side, one that they frequented and loved—the GCPD reported casualties and Batgirl twisted on the throttle hoping the bike could go faster. Spoiler gripped the back of Batgirl’s seat tightly, her heart pounding.
“Alright, not to jinx us or anything,” Spoiler yelled over the wind, “but this better not be another wild goose chase.” Batgirl didn’t reply, her focus locked on the road ahead.
When they arrived, the diner was eerily silent. The flashing red and blue lights of squad cars reflected against puddles of blood that pooled beneath lifeless bodies. Officers moved cautiously through the scene, their faces pale, their hands unsteady. Spoiler slid off the bike and pulled her mask higher over her face.
“Jesus,” she muttered, taking in the carnage. “He didn’t just kill them. He played with them.” Batgirl exhaled sharply, stepping over a lifeless GCPD officer whose face had been twisted into an unnatural, grotesque smile. Rigor mortis soon to set in, locking the horror in place.
“Smilex gas,” Batgirl said grimly. “He’s been refining the formula again. But how? Or who? He has been locked up for the past three years.”
Spoiler crouched next to one of the bodies, touching the edge of a Joker card wedged between the victim’s fingers. “God, I hate this guy,” she murmured. Batgirl scanned the scene, her sharp eyes searching for something—anything—that could tell them where he went next.
“He’s already gone,” she said, frustration leaking into her voice. “This was just another distraction. A—”
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
A sharp, urgent sound crackled through their comms, cutting through the tense air. “Distress signal—Batcave,” Spoiler and Batgirl exchanged looks
“Shit,” Spoiler breathed “you think—?”
“Something’s wrong,” Batgirl said, already running back to the bike. “We need to move. Now.” As they sped off into the night, the crime scene faded behind them—but the lingering feeling in Batgirl’s gut told her this wasn’t over. Not even close. Batgirl pushed the Batcycle to its absolute limits, the roaring engine slicing through the dead of night. Spoiler clung to her waist, her grip tightening with every sharp turn.
“Batgirl, I swear to God, if you take one more curve like that—” Spoiler’s hood fell back revealing her blood hair as the wind sharpened with speed.
“Hold on,” Batgirl snapped, not breaking focus. The distress signal from the Batcave had them on high alert, and if Tim sounded worried, things were bad. They reached the hidden entrance to the Batcave in just under ten minutes, skidding to a stop at the entrance. The secret door opening slowly for them. The anticipation made Batgirl’s stomach tighten.
“Something’s not right,” she muttered.
“No shit,” Spoiler said, drawing her staff. Without hesitation, they rushed inside. The Batcave was eerily silent, save for the distant echoes of chaos reverberating from within. Then—a guttural scream tore through the air.
Batgirl’s heart jumped. “That voice... that was Dick.” But something was wrong. Very wrong. They sprinted through the cave entrance. As soon as they descended the hidden staircase, they were met with a scene straight out of a nightmare. The Batcave was trashed. Equipment shattered, monitors flickering, papers strewn across the floor. The air was thick with tension, sweat, and something else—something feral.
And standing at the center, the culprit for this destruction, Dick Grayson. He was unhinged, eyes wild with rage, his pupils dilated to near blackness. His body was shaking, his muscles tensed with raw power, like a predator backed into a corner. Tim, trying to stay on his feet as he circled Dick. Blood dripped from his temple and lip.
“Side effect from the Lazarus Pit!” Tim yelled, his voice strained. “He’s got ridiculous superhuman strength, no reasoning, pure instinct! It’s like I’m fighting Superboy—” Dick lunged. Tim barely rolled out of the way before Dick’s fist obliterated the Batcomputer console behind him, sending a shower of sparks across the cave. Batgirl’s breath hitched. She’d seen this before. Jason. But Jason had come back angry. This? This was primal.
Spoiler stepped forward. “Alright, Boy Wonder, I don’t know if you can even hear me, but let’s all just take a deep—” Dick turned on her in a flash, his movements too fast, too sharp. His expression twisted into something unreadable. He was breathing too hard, like he was trying to hold back an instinct clawing at his brain.
“Okay! Never mind! No deep breaths, my bad!” Spoiler backpedaled fast.
“Babs! Steph!” Tim called out, desperation seeping into his voice. “We need to hold him down now!”
Batgirl didn’t hesitate. “Go left,” she ordered Spoiler.
They moved as a unit, years of training kicking in. Batgirl struck first, aiming for his legs to throw him off balance. But he anticipated it—countered—grabbing her by the wrist and swinging her with brutal force. She twisted midair, using the momentum to land on her feet, but pain shot up her arm.
“He’s faster,” she gritted out.
“No kidding,” Spoiler muttered.
Tim took the opening and rushed Dick, wrapping his arms around his torso in an attempt to restrain him. For a moment, it looked like it might work— Then Dick roared. A deep, inhuman sound tore from his throat as he launched Tim off of him like he weighed nothing.
Batgirl barely had time to move before Tim’s body crashed into a worktable, sending tools flying.
“Okay, this plan isn’t working!” Spoiler shouted. Batgirl moved fast, calculating her strikes with precision. She aimed low, hoping to destabilize Dick just long enough for Spoiler and Tim to get a solid hold on him. But Dick was faster. Much faster. His reflexes were almost preternatural, his movements erratic but effective, guided by nothing but raw instinct. She barely saw it coming. Dick twisted in midair, pivoting off the wreckage of the Batcomputer. His arm shot out with blinding speed, catching Batgirl square across the jaw with a devastating backhand. Her world blurred. Pain exploded in her skull as she was thrown backward. Her body crashed into the cold cave floor, and for a split second, she was weightless—falling. Then… darkness.
“Babs!” Tim’s voice barely registered in the haze. Her head was pounding, her ears ringing. Her jaw dislocated and throbbing in pain. Her vision flickered in and out, the cave spinning in fractured glimpses—shattered screens, overturned crates, the distorted shape of someone moving—no, fighting. She tried to push herself up, but her limbs felt like dead weight.
“Barbara! Come on!” Spoiler’s voice now, strained and worried as she distracted Dick. Someone gripped Barbara’s shoulders. The touch was firm, familiar. She forced her eyes open. ‘Tim.’
His face was bloodied, eyes wild with panic. “Are you with me?” Batgirl blinked hard, trying to ground herself, but the moment clarity returned, she heard it— A low, menacing growl. Her stomach dropped. Tim turned just in time to see Dick charging again, his entire body coiled like a predator ready to kill. Batgirl tried to move, tried to do something, anything, but her body was still sluggish, pain dulling her reflexes before passing out.
“Jason,” Tim said quickly, “we need Jason!” He shouted as he lunged at Dick pushing him away from Batgirl’s unconscious body.
As if on cue, footsteps pounded down the stairs. A familiar voice, gravelly and pissed off, cut through the chaos: Jason Todd stood at the end of the stairs in the Batcave, chest heaving, hair disheveled from his desperate ride back. He rushed to Batgirl’s limp body and sighed in relief. His gaze locked onto Dick. His expression hardened.
“Who dunked this idiot in a Lazarus Pit?!” Jason shouted.
Gotham – City
Past — Approx. 2hrs Ago
01:26
Gotham’s skyline painted in a haze of neon and crime. The city never slept, but tonight, it trembled. Somewhere within the crumbling walls of Arkham Asylum, laughter slithered through the corridors—a shrill, unsettling sound that sent ice down the spines of the guards. Then, the first explosion rocked the facility.
A chain reaction of chaos followed: cell doors malfunctioning, power flickering in and out, alarms screaming over the bedlam. The security feed showed him—the Joker—grinning ear to ear, strolling down the hallways like he owned the place. Blood smeared the walls where guards had tried to stop him, their lifeless bodies slumped in grotesque angles.
Outside Arkham, a stolen van screeched onto the bridge leading into Gotham. Minutes later, the first massacre hit the news. A family gunned down in a diner. A bus full of commuters, burned alive. Gotham’s crime families received packages filled with severed hands, signed with a smiley face in blood. The Joker was back, and he wanted Gotham to know it.
“Wake up Gotham! Daddy’s back!” The Joker’s sinister laughter could be heard echoing in the alleys. The alley reeked of gasoline and copper. The distant wail of sirens painted the night in urgency, but here—in the shadows, away from Gotham’s panicked heartbeat—the world belonged to him.
Harley stood at the mouth of the alley, arms crossed, chewing on her gum with exaggerated patience. Her blonde pigtails were streaked with red—not hair dye, but someone’s blood. She tapped her boot against the pavement, unimpressed by the pile of bodies behind Joker as he hummed a tune and wiped a crimson-stained knife on a dead man’s shirt.
“Ya know, Puddin’,” she finally broke the silence, her voice laced with feigned amusement, “when I heard ya blew up Arkham and started paintin’ the town red, I thought—aw, he missed me! But then…” she pouted, kicking a stray severed hand near her feet. “Ya didn’t even leave me a present.” Joker turned slowly, rolling his shoulders as if stretching after a long nap. His yellowed teeth gleamed in the dim light.
“Harley, Harley, Harley,” he sing-songed, stepping over a body with a flourish. “You always were my needy little doll, weren’t ya?” His gloved fingers traced an imaginary tear down his cheek. “I mean, really, what kinda sap do you take me for? You think I was out here, slaughtering the good people of Gotham just to—what—make you feel special?” Harley’s eyes narrowed, her fingers twitching by the mallet strapped to her back.
“Pfft, please,” she scoffed. “You think I need your validation?” She stepped forward, voice dropping lower. “I just figured you’d come find me first, considerin’ all the hell I went through while you were locked up. Ain’t exactly been fun without ya, ya know?” Joker’s smile stretched wider.
“Aw, sweetheart, that’s adorable,” he cooed, tilting his head. “But lemme letcha in on a little secret, hmm?” He leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear. She tensed.
“I didn’t come find ya,” he whispered, grin never faltering, “because I didn’t need ya.” The words sliced through her sharper than any knife. But Harley Quinn wasn’t that naive little girl anymore. Her lips curled into a smirk, but her grip tightened around her mallet.
“Oooh, I see how it is,” she drawled, rocking back on her heels. “Ya ditch me, run off playin’ with someone else, and now ya think ya don’t need me?” Joker’s chuckle was low and dark, his fingers drumming against his chin.
“Well, when you put it like that—” He suddenly lunged forward, gripping her chin tight between his fingers. His eyes gleamed with something sinister, something possessive. “I don’t.” Harley met his gaze, her breath steady, her heart pounding. Then—CRACK.
She swung her mallet up, catching him hard across the jaw. Joker staggered back, his cackle turning into a choked grunt as he collided with a dumpster. He wiped his lip, staring at the blood on his glove with a delighted ooh.
“Ya always did love the theatrics, Mistah J,” Harley purred, twirling her mallet onto her shoulder. “But I ain’t some lost puppy waitin’ for ya anymore.” Joker pushed himself up, still grinning despite the fresh pain. He dusted off his suit with a chuckle.
“Oh, Harley, Harley—you wound me,” he said, placing a hand over his chest dramatically. “But don’tcha worry your pretty little head…” His eyes darkened. “This ain’t over.”
Harley smirked, backing up toward the alley’s exit. “Oh, I know.” And with that, she disappeared into the night, leaving Joker alone with the corpses and his laughter.
Gotham – City – Batcave (later)
Present
03:16 (City) – 03:28 (Batcave)
(Heavy med lingo, see notes at the end.)
The night air bit at Jason’s skin as he sprinted down the cold, empty streets of Gotham. His breath came in ragged gasps, his bare feet pounding against the pavement, but he barely noticed. ‘Batcave’ Duke’s voice replayed in his head like a broken record. ‘Something’s wrong’ Jason needed a ride. Fast. Jason’s eyes darted around, scanning for an opportunity. Then he saw it—a sleek red motorcycle parked outside a gas station, its engine still warm, key still in the ignition. The owner, some unlucky bastard, was inside, chatting with the cashier, completely unaware.
Jason didn’t hesitate. He vaulted onto the bike, twisted the throttle, and peeled out onto the road, tires screeching against the asphalt. The engine roared as he weaved through traffic, pushing the bike to its limits, barely slowing for red lights. He could hear the wind howling in his ears, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the creeping sense of dread clawing at his chest. Something was wrong. Really wrong.
The Wayne Manor loomed ahead, its silhouette stark against the night sky. Jason didn’t even bother slowing down as he hit the driveway, skidding the bike to a messy stop right in front of the entrance. With the motorcycle, Jason managed to arrive within 16 minutes from the time the distress signal went off. He cursed under his breath for being far away from the manor. He jumped off, leaving it abandoned, and sprinted up the steps. The moment he got close, he heard it— A bloodcurdling scream. Jason’s stomach twisted. ‘Dick!’
He shoved open the front doors and bolted through the halls, his heartbeat hammering in sync with his frantic footsteps. He raced to the grandfather clock and triggered the entrance to the Batcave. The closer he got to the cave entrance, the louder the chaos became—shouting, crashing, the unmistakable sound of a fight. Jason took the steps three at a time, practically throwing himself down the stairs. The Batcave was a wreck. Monitors were shattered, equipment overturned, blood smeared across the floor. The place looked like it had been hit by a goddamn warzone. And Batgirl, no, Barbara, was on the ground knocked unconscious. He rushes to her side and inspects her, ‘still breathing’ Jason thought. He saw her dislocated jaw, some minor lacerations oozing, but no major bleeding. ‘She’ll be out for a while.’
And in the middle of it all—Dick Grayson. His body was trembling, his skin pale and slick with sweat, but his eyes—his eyes—something was wrong. Dilated pupils, wild and unfocused, like a man trapped in his own mind. He was barefoot, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants, his muscles coiled with unnatural tension. And he was fighting everyone. Jason recognized that look right away—
“Who dunked this idiot in a Lazarus Pit?!” Jason growled at the Batmembers startling them as their focus on Dick had muffled Jason’s arrival. Tim was struggling to hold him down, his lip split and blood trickling down his chin. Steph was moving like a ghost, dodging and weaving, but even she was struggling to contain him. Duke had his hands up, light flickering at his fingertips, but hesitation was clear in his stance. Then there was Alfred. Standing just out of reach, syringe in hand, face creased with something Jason had seen plenty of times—worry.
“Master Grayson! Please snap out of it!” Alfred’s voice was firm, but beneath it, there was something close to pleading. Jason barely had a second to process before Dick let out a raw, guttural snarl and launched himself forward, grabbing Steph by the arm and twisting. The sound of a crack sent a shockwave through Jason’s system. Steph barely reacted, rolling with the motion and striking out with a precise kick to Dick’s ribs.
But Dick didn’t even flinch. Instead, he shoved her off and turned, his gaze landing on Jason. For the first time, Jason felt the full weight of Dick’s stare. It wasn’t just rage. It was desperation. Pain. Jason clenched his fists. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Dickie—what the hell happened?” Dick lunged.
Jason barely had time to brace before Dick slammed into him with the force of a wrecking ball. They hit the ground hard, Jason’s back cracking against the concrete. The wind rushed out of his lungs as Dick’s hands wrapped around his throat like a steel vice.
“Jesus—fuck, Dick! Get off me!” Jason wheezed, clawing at Dick’s grip. ‘He’s too damn strong.’ His muscles strained, every fiber of his being fighting for air. Tim and Steph reacted instantly. Steph grabbed at Dick’s arm, twisting it into a painful lock, while Tim aimed a precise jab at his pressure points. It should’ve worked—it would’ve worked on a normal opponent. But Dick wasn’t normal right now. ‘He didn’t even feel it.’
With a savage grunt, he flung Steph off like she weighed nothing, sending her skidding across the cave floor. Tim barely dodged the wild swing that followed, stumbling back with a curse. Jason took his chance. He drove his knee up into Dick’s ribs with as much force as he could muster. A normal person would’ve doubled over in agony. Dick barely blinked. Instead, he turned, his pupils blown wide, and let out a ragged snarl before launching himself at Tim.
“Enough of this shit!” Jason roared, scrambling to his feet. He reached into the utility belt he stole from Batman’s suit earlier and pulled out a flashbang.
“Close your eyes!” he barked at everyone before yanking the pin and tossing it directly at Dick’s feet. The explosion of light and sound rocked the Batcave, sending Dick staggering backward, hands flying to his face. It wouldn’t last long, but Jason wasn’t wasting the opportunity.
He turned to the others, voice sharp and commanding. “Listen up! Lazarus Pit side effects don’t just disappear! We’re in for weeks—months of this shit, but the first 48 hours? He’s got superhuman strength, zero impulse control, and we cannot reason with him!” He jabbed a finger at the wreckage around them. “You see this?! This is Dick holding back! If we don’t shut him down now, someone’s walking out of here in a fucking body bag!”
“Then what the hell do we do?” Duke asked as he fought off a rising panic. “We can’t just—”
“We sedate and intubate him,” Jason snapped. “Propofol drip, not propofol pushes, that will wear off quick. He’s gotta be knocked all the way out until his body stops trying to tear itself apart. It means we are gonna have to deeply sedate him, which also means he needs to be intubated.”
Tim wiped blood from his mouth wincing from his split lip, nodding grimly. “That’s—I… I’ll intubate him. But we have been trying to hold him down, we can’t subdue him!”
“I can clearly fucking see that,” Jason shot back “we’re running out of time, so move your asses!” Before anyone could respond, Barbara’s voice cut through the chaos.
“Then let’s do this.” Jason turned just in time to see Barbara getting up from the floor spitting out blood, joint clicking as she adjusted her jaw in place. Her expression a perfect storm of determination and urgency. But the moment her eyes locked onto Dick, they softened.
“Babs—” Jason started, but she cut him off.
“As you said, we don’t have time, Jay.” Her voice was steady, but there was something trembling beneath it. She knows what we have to do. She hates it, but she knows.
“Alfred, prepare 20mg of etomidate and 80mg of succinylcholine for intubation” Tim ordered and Alfred nodded. Tim knows he can trust Alfred with the medications.
Jason swallowed and gave a stiff nod. “Alright. We’ve got one shot at this.” Tim was already moving, grabbing then crash cart and prepping the medbay. Alfred, still shaken but resolute, retrieved two separate vials, Succinylcholine and Etomidate. Etomidate to sedate and Succinylcholine to paralyze Dick. These are standard drugs for rapid sequence intubation.
But Dick—Dick was still fighting, still thrashing like a wild animal caught in a snare. His eyes flickered between rage and fear, caught in a battle none of them could see. Barbara took a slow, careful step toward him.
“Dick,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. His head snapped toward her, his body tensing like a coiled spring. Barbara swallowed hard. Then she nodded. “Come on, Dick. You can fight this.” And for a split second—just one—Jason swore he saw a flicker of recognition in Dick’s eyes.
“Babs, as soon as I intubate, I need you to connect the Propofol drip and start the pump. It’s already primed and set up—just hit start once he’s intubated,” Tim instructed, his hands steady despite the chaos.
He turned to give Steph directions but hesitated when he noticed her arm—swollen, bruised, likely a closed fracture. He clenched his jaw. One more thing to handle later. His eyes darted to Duke who was locked in the fight, but Tim would not consider him for this task as he was unfamiliar with critical care and trauma.
“Sorry, Babs, but I’m gonna need you to do one more thing—pull the ventilator over and program it. We need to get Dick hooked up as soon as the tube is in to help him breathe.”
Barbara nodded sharply. “I’m familiar with both—I’m on it.”
Gotham – City – Hideout
Present
03:18 (City) – 03:32 (Hideout)
Gotham’s skyline stretched endlessly before him, a sea of jagged towers and neon lights flickering against the night sky. The wind howled in his ears as he grappled from rooftop to rooftop, moving with the precision of a predator reclaiming its territory. The weight of the Bat-suit felt right—a second skin, familiar in a way that made his heart race with something dangerously close to nostalgia. For the first time in a long time, Damian felt free.
His movements were fluid, instinctual. The sweat billowed behind him, the suit made him look larger, bulkier, and he reveled in the silent power it commanded. Gotham—his Gotham—felt alive beneath him, its pulse thrumming in sync with his own. He had spent years fighting for the right to wear this suit, and now, with his father gone, no one else has the right to wear it. The city felt hollow without the original Batman. But tonight was not about Gotham.
He landed soundlessly on the rooftop of his new hideout—one of his personal hideouts, long since fortified and secured. But something felt wrong. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood, an almost imperceptible shift in the darkness around him. His instincts screamed trap. He reached for his sword—
Too late to react. Talia al Ghul—his mother, his maker, his executioner—stood behind him, her emerald eyes burning with quiet, seething rage. Damian barely had a moment to catch his breath before the first strike came. Talia moved like a shadow, her blade slashing through the air with ruthless precision. Damian barely dodged, stumbling back as his mother pressed forward, her eyes ablaze with something between fury and disappointment.
“You have forgotten who you are.” Talia’s voice was a whip, cracking through the stale air of the hideout. Another strike—this time a brutal kick to his ribs that sent him sprawling across the stone floor. “You disgrace yourself in that costume—pretending to be one of them. Pretending to be weak. I should have never allowed you to train with them.”
Damian gritted his teeth, pushing himself up just in time to block the next attack. He swung, his fist aimed at her temple, but she caught his wrist effortlessly, twisting it behind his back before slamming him against the wall.
“Pathetic,” she sneered. “You fight like your father. Hesitant. Restrained.” With a vicious yank, she flung him to the ground. Damian hit hard, rolling onto his back, gasping for air. But he refused to stay down. He flipped onto his feet, drawing his sword.
“I fight like myself,” he spat, launching at her with renewed vigor. Their blades clashed in a blinding flurry of steel. Talia met every strike with calculated ease, her movements precise, practiced—superior. She had trained him, after all. Every lesson, every beating, every brutal night spent perfecting his craft was etched into his bones because of her. And yet, she was still better.
“Do you think you can win against me?” she laughed, sidestepping his thrust before slamming her elbow into his sternum. Damian staggered, choking back a pained grunt. “You forget who made you.” She pressed forward, forcing him onto the defensive. He deflected, dodged, tried to find an opening—any opening. But she was relentless.
Another strike—her knee to his stomach. A palm to his jaw. Damian’s vision blurred for a second, and that second was all she needed. In a flash, his sword was ripped from his grasp. Talia drove the hilt into his ribs, knocking the breath from his lungs before pinning him to the ground with a knee against his throat.
He clawed at her arm, but she didn’t budge. “Do you see now?” she hissed. “Everything I have ever done has been for you, my son.”
Damian bared his teeth, fury igniting in his chest. “Liar.” Talia’s grip tightened.
“I orchestrated everything—from the moment you drew your first breath,” she continued, her voice laced with venom. “I gave you life. I trained you. I molded you into the ruler you were meant to be.” She leaned in closer, her breath hot against his face.
“Did you think it was your idea to kill Grandfather?” she whispered. “Do you think you took the Demon’s throne by your own hand? I planted that seed. I made you strong enough to dethrone him.” Damian froze. His breath hitched.
“No—” Damian’s tone wavered in fear.
“Yes.” She smiled then, a cruel, knowing smirk.
“You were never in control, beloved,” she murmured. “You never had a choice. I removed him from your path, so you could take his place. For you.” The weight of her words settled deep in his chest, heavier than any blow she had landed. His mind reeled. It wasn’t his victory. It was hers. She had used him. Like a pawn. Like a weapon. But he knew this all along. Rage boiled in his veins, his muscles tensing beneath her grip.
Talia pressed down harder. “I want you to succeed, Damian. I want you to rule as you were born to.” Her expression darkened. “But if you refuse to be what I made you…” She let the words hang, deliberate and cold.
“I will strip you of it all.” She released him with a shove, rising smoothly to her feet as he gasped for air. Damian coughed, rolling onto his side, his entire body trembling from fury and exertion.
Talia turned her back to him, her voice quiet but sharp. “You are either my heir…” She strode toward the exit, pausing only to glance at him over her shoulder. “…or you are nothing.”
And then she was gone.
Damian lay on the cold ground, chest rising and falling in uneven gasps, his mother’s words still ringing in his ears. He clenched his fists, rage simmering just beneath his skin.
But Talia was not finished. Pain exploded in his neck.
Damian gasped as cold steel plunged deep into his flesh, slicing through veins and muscle like butter. His body seized, his breath hitching into a choked gurgle as warmth spilled down his collar. His vision blurred at the edges, but he forced himself to turn, to fight. She didn’t hesitate as she grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back cruelly.
“You would dare humiliate me?” she hissed, her breath hot against his ear. Damian tried to speak, but his throat was filling with blood. His hands scrabbled weakly at hers, his body betraying him as he was dragged across the floor like a discarded rag doll.
“I gave you everything,” Talia continued, her voice as sharp as the blade she had just buried in his flesh. She continued dragging his body down a flight of stairs. Her steps slow as ever and her intentions clear. “Your name. Your purpose. Your life. And you caged me like an animal? In front of the League? My League!” Damian’s fingers twitched, his body convulsing. Darkness clawed at the edges of his vision, but he refused to succumb. ‘Not like this.’ With effortless strength, she hauled him toward a pit—a yawning, bubbling pool of green that reeked of death and rebirth. ‘I’m sorry mother!’ Damian wanted to scream but couldn’t manage much.
“I’m—,” he rasped, but the word was lost in the thick, wet gurgle of his failing lungs. Talia didn’t hesitate. She threw him into the Lazarus Pit. Pain. Fire. The sensation of drowning and burning all at once. The darkness did not take him—it shattered him. Damian’s body convulsed, his veins igniting as the pit consumed him whole. The agony was unbearable, his mind fracturing into a thousand pieces before being stitched back together in a way that felt wrong.
Then, silence.
A moment later, Damian gasped, his body surging upward from the pit’s surface. His mind was a storm of memories—past, present, and something other. His vision sharpened, his breath ragged. His mother stood above him, impassive, as if she had simply watered a garden and was now waiting for it to bloom. Talia crouched beside him, pressing her fingers to his bloodstained cheek.
“You will never make that mistake again,” she murmured, her voice softer now. “If you ever defy me like that again, my son…” She tilted his chin up, forcing his still-raw eyes to meet hers.
“I will erase every last one of them. Do you understand?!” The Bat-family. All of them.
“Yes… mother.” The Lazarus fire still burned inside him, but even through the haze of resurrection, one truth remained clear in Damian’s mind. This was war.
“When you are done with your nonsense, come find me.” Talia said with the sweetest tone, it’s a tone every child delights in when their mothers show affection.
Gotham – Batcave
Present
03:41
(Heavy med lingo, see notes at the end.)
Jason's chest heaved as he wiped blood from his eyebrow, his muscles screaming from the relentless onslaught. Dick was an unrelenting force, his movements calculated but feral, the Lazarus Pit’s rage twisting his every strike into something monstrous. Jason had fought him before—hell, he had trained under him—but this wasn’t the same man. This was something worse. Another brutal strike came for his ribs. Jason barely twisted in time to avoid a full break, but the impact still sent him sprawling, pain lancing through his side. His vision blurred, his limbs heavy. Too slow. Too weak. Dick was going to kill him.
Jason's eyes darted across the wreckage of the Batcave’s medbay, searching—there. A glint of metal under the overturned med cart. A bright green substance. His fingers curled into a fist. If he hesitated, he was dead. With a sudden roll, Jason lunged for the fallen syringe, knocking aside scattered vials of painkillers and sedatives. His fingers closed around the injector, the label smeared but unmistakable—Bane’s formula. Not pure Venom, not enough to turn him into a monster, but enough for what he needed. Enough to keep him in the fight.
Dick was on him in seconds, shadows tearing toward him like a phantom. Jason barely had time to slam the syringe into his thigh, the needle piercing through his skin, plunging deep into muscle. His thumb hit the plunger. The effect was instant.
A rush of fire shot through his veins, white-hot and electric. His heart thundered like a war drum, his muscles tightening with an unnatural strength. The pain in his ribs dulled to static, the exhaustion wiped clean from his limbs. Jason grinned, the taste of copper on his tongue. Oh yeah. That’s the stuff. Dick’s fist came down. Jason caught it. For the first time since this fight started, he saw the flicker of surprise in Dick’s wild, Lazarus-tainted eyes. Jason twisted, forcing Dick’s arm back with a brutal jerk. His body was lighter, stronger—faster. With a roar, he drove his fist into Dick’s gut, sending him flying backward with a force he wouldn’t have had seconds ago.
Dick was a force of nature, but so was Jason with Venom surging through his veins. Jason gritted his teeth as he wrapped an arm around Dick’s throat, locking him into a chokehold. But even in his disoriented, post-Lazarus state, Dick was strong. Too strong. He felt as Venom’s effects were leaving his body. His body thrashed violently, muscles corded with unnatural strength as he bucked against Jason’s grip. Every tendon in Jason’s arms burned from exertion, but he held on, tightening the hold.
“Tim!” Jason barked, voice strained as Dick clawed at his forearm “push the meds in now!” Tim didn’t hesitate. Alfred handed him the first syringe filled with etomidate. Tim grabbed the syringe with a quick push of the plunger, he slammed it into the IV port, thanking God and Bruce that the IV was still embedded in Dick’s arm. The sedative surged into his bloodstream. For a split second, nothing happened. Then Dick’s struggles slowed. His muscles slackened slightly, his breathing growing erratic. Jason felt the moment his body gave in, going limp in his grasp. Jason eased Dick’s body onto the ground, his pulse thudding in his ears
“Master Timothy, prepare to intubate,” Alfred instructed, his voice calm but firm as he swiftly injected succinylcholine into Dick’s IV—a paralytic. Jason barely had time to react before Alfred appeared at his side. His movements were precise, unshaken, but Jason could see the tension in the old man’s jaw.
And then—his chest stilled. Tim’s eyes went wide in horror. “Shit, his breathing’s crashing!”
“This is crazy, I have never intubated anyone.” Tim says as he panics, ‘deep breaths, deep breaths’ Tim tells himself.
“Get him on the stretcher, quick!” Barbara instructed and with everyone’s help, Dick was instantly on the stretcher.
“C’mon, c’mon,” Tim muttered under his breath, already grabbing the laryngoscope and endotracheal tube from the crash cart. He pried Dick’s mouth open, hands moving fast, but not fast enough for Jason. Tim just started med school two years ago, and at best he watched a few videos, which included rapid sequence intubation and a few other critical care videos. He never thought he’d actually be intubating someone for the first time without a preceptor.
“He’s turning blue,” Barbara’s voice was tight with panic as she set up the mechanical ventilator, already prepping it. She was familiar with the ventilator, she had to learn how to use it when Bruce was on it, and when Jason was on it. Now Dick too.
Jason felt his chest tighten. ‘This was not how this night was supposed to go.’ Tim finally managed to slip the tube into place, securing the airway before grabbing the ambu bag and squeezing—hard. Dick’s chest rose. Then fell. Again. And again.
Alfred checked the placement, listening for breath sounds with the stethoscope. After a few agonizing seconds, he gave a small nod. “Proper placement, well done Master Tim.” Barbara wasted no time setting up the propofol drip to keep him sedated. The worst of the Lazarus-induced rage was over. Now, they just had to keep him alive.
“Not bad for your first time, I did enjoy seeing the panic in your face.” Duke laughs and Tim smiles.
Jason, however, felt like he was about to pass out as the Venom induced adrenaline began to leave his circulation. He has not even recovered from the fight with Damian a few nights ago. His entire body throbbed and ached from this fight. His arms were covered in fresh bruises from where Dick had fought him off, and his knuckles were bloody from striking his brother over and over just to keep him down. And his chest. His chest hurt like a mother. His vision blurred. Then the floor hit him.
“Jason!” The distant sound of rushing footsteps barely registered before hands were gripping his arms, trying to lift him up. Tim wanted to move on impulse but right now his focus was bagging Dick with the ambu bag, if he stopped, Dick stops breathing. He assessed Jason from a distance, but immediately spotted his uneven chest rise and agonal breaths.
“How much longer until you can hook him up to the ventilator, Babs?” Tim asked as he timed the ventilations and applying the correct amount of pressure.
“One minute.” Barbara continued setting up the ventilator as he glanced at Jason. Jason’s eyes open wide, panic instantly rising. His entire body felt pain, like he’d been run over by the Batmobile twice. Pain. That was all Jason felt. His breathing was uneven, wrong, every inhale sending sharp, searing agony through his right side. His ribs grinded against each other with every ragged breath, and his chest felt like it was being crushed under a goddamn building. His head throbbed like someone had taken a crowbar to it—hell, maybe Dick had. ‘Wouldn’t be the first time.’
“Shit, he’s not breathing right,” Duke said, voice strained as he checked Jason’s pulse. “His heart’s racing.”
“Get him on the other stretcher,” Alfred ordered, “he refractured his right ribs and I am afraid more ribs have fractured after this fight” he said while placing his hands under Jason’s legs as the others lifted his body. Jason groaned. Jason’s vision blurred as he gasped, sucking in a breath that barely filled his lungs before it stopped short, like something was blocking it. His fingers curled into fists, nails biting into his palms. He knew what this was.
“Alf—” His voice came out hoarse, barely audible.
But Alfred was already there, standing beside him, his face a mask of grim professionalism. “Master Jason, I need you to stay silent,” he said, hands moving swiftly as he poked Jason’s skin with an 18-gage needle, establishing an IV. His eyes flicked up to Tim. “He has a tension pneumothorax.”
“I know,” Tim cursed, and on cue Barbara finally connects Dick to the ventilator. The ventilator was set to breathe for Dick. His oxygen remained at 100% and Tim sighed in relief. His eyes focus on Jason now and he immediately rushed over. “His lung’s collapsing. Alfred, I need to perform a needle decompression. Can you gather the equipment and set me up?”
"Right away sir." Alfred responded.
Jason squeezed his eyes shut as another wave of pain rolled over him. Every breath was harder than the last, the pressure in his chest building fast. His body screamed in protest, his ribs shifting like broken glass under his skin.
Barbara was suddenly beside him, a syringe in hand. “Morphine,” she murmured, pressing a reassuring hand to his arm before injecting the narcotic into his IV. Jason barely registered the burn in his vein before the relief started to creep in, dulling the edges of the agony. Not gone, but better.
Alfred’s hands were quick but gentle as he injected a local anesthetic into Jason’s side. “This will numb the area of incision,” he said.
Jason gritted his teeth. “Yeah, great, let’s just do it.”
Tim took a deep breath, exhaling sharply as he positioned himself. He looked tense, but his hands were steady. “I’ve done this on dummies before,” he muttered, lining up the scalpel against Jason’s ribs. “Guess we’re about to find out if I can do it on a person.”
Jason huffed out a weak laugh. “Love the confidence, Dr. Drake.”
Tim ignored him, focus razor-sharp. “Barbara, get suction ready. Alfred, can you—”
“I have it handled, Master Timothy,” Alfred assured, preparing the chest tube drainage system. Jason clenched his fists as Tim made a precise incision between his ribs. The pressure inside his chest built to an unbearable peak, his vision darkening at the edges. Then—
The tube was in. And Jason felt immediate relief as the unbearable weight on his chest lifted. Air whooshed out, escaping from the space where it had been trapped inside his chest cavity. Jason gasped, finally able to take a full breath. It still hurt, but the crushing suffocation was gone.
He let his head fall back against the stretcher, exhaling a shaky breath. “Holy fuck,” he muttered.
Tim wiped sweat from his brow. “Pressure’s, relieved. You should be okay now.”
Jason didn’t respond right away, still catching his breath. Tim’s eyes scanned over Jason’s face, concern creeping in. “Hey, big guy, you with us?”
Jason blinked up at him, his voice rough. “‘M fine,” he muttered, finally breathing, finally not dying.
Barbara didn’t look convinced. “Yeah, you always say that.”
Jason let out a dry, breathless chuckle. “Still counts as ‘fine.’”
Tim shook his head. “You’re an idiot. Venom? Really?”
Jason scoffed, shifting slightly despite the soreness settling in. “Tell me, Tim—how the fuck were we supposed to beat Lazarus Dick?”
“You put your life on the line. We could have lost you both,” Steph said, one arm gripping the other, clearly fractured, her tone flat but heavy with unspoken frustration.
Tim sighed, “I gotta say that was a smart move.” He praises Jason.
Jason groaned, letting his head rest back for just a second. “Yeah, yeah. Someone remind me never to fight Dick when he’s on a Lazarus bender again.”
Barbara huffed a laugh, but her expression remained tense as she glanced at Dick, lying motionless on the gurney, the ventilator steadily pushing air into his lungs. Jason followed her gaze, swallowing hard.
Jason let out a weak chuckle. “Hah… you didn’t fuck it up.”
Tim rolled his eyes. “Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, asshole.”
Barbara secured the chest tube, taping it in place. “You scared the shit out of us,” she admitted, brushing her hair out of her face. “Try not to almost die again?”
“Wasn’t planning on it,” Jason muttered, letting his eyes drift shut for just a second. Then a voice echoed through the cave as bats scattered. Jason groaned as he forced his eyes open.
“What the fuck?!” Standing at the entrance of the Batcave, staring at him with wide, incredulous eyes, was Arsenal. His bow was still slung over his shoulder, his red jacket unzipped, like he’d sprinted the entire way here. Jason barely had time to brace before Roy stormed over, stopping just short of stepping on the bloodied floor.
“The fuck happened?” Roy demanded, eyes darting between Jason and the chest tube sticking out of his side. “I’m clearly late, like, an hour late and now you need a whole-ass surgical intervention?! What the hell did you do, fall off a goddamn building? And what the fuck happened to Dick?”
Jason, still loopy from the morphine, smirked up at him. “Nah, just fought an unstoppable raged Dick. Clearly, I won.” Jason chuckled and then groaned from the pain his laughter caused him.
Roy narrowed his eyes. “Are you serious?” He turned to Barbara and Tim. “Is he serious?”
Tim removed his sterile gown and sterile gloves, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Unfortunately, yes. Long story short, Dick just came back from the Lazarus Pit unhinged, took all of us to even put him down. Jason had to use Bane’s Venom to restrain him.”
Roy groaned. “Goddammit, Jay.”
Jason grinned, despite everything. “Aww, you worried about me, Harper?”
Roy scowled, crossing his arms. “Shut the fuck up.”
Jason chuckled—then winced as the movement pulled at his ribs.
Roy let out a long breath, rubbing a hand down his face before kneeling next to Jason, his expression softening. “For real though, man… you okay?”
Jason exhaled. “I am now.”
Roy nodded. “Good.”
Then he smacked Jason lightly on the shoulder. “You idiot.”
Gotham – Batcave
Present – 6 Hours Later
09:02
(Heavy med lingo, see notes at the end.)
Jason's eyes lock onto Dick, his body lying motionless beneath the harsh white lights of the med bay. The ventilator pumps in rhythm, forcing air in and out of his chest, the mechanical hiss echoing in Jason’s mind like a ticking clock. It’s a sound that somehow makes the silence between them all the more suffocating. Dick’s face, usually full of life and energy, now looks as pale and lifeless as a ghost. But Jason knows this is what had to be done. It had been a choice—a choice that didn’t sit right, but one that had to be made. The blows to the head, the medicine that incapacitated him, it was necessary. But seeing him like this... Jason can barely hold it together.
His mind is already fraying at the edges, the trauma of the past few hours swirling around him in a blur of pain, guilt, and confusion. Unsure whether a day has passed. He’s barely aware of the faint murmur of the TV in the background, but then a voice cuts through his fog. “Breaking news—Last night the Joker escaped from Arkham Asylum, an explosion aided in his—”
The words hit him like a hammer to the chest, a jolt of panic surging through his veins. His heartbeat quickens, the feeling of suffocation rising from the pit of his stomach. He tries to breathe, tries to calm himself, but the air feels thick, and each breath he takes is shallow, sharp. The memories flash through his mind—the sounds of the laughing gas, the clown-faced terror, the endless torment. His fingers twitch, his fists clenching around the sheets as his anxiety spirals.
Before he can lose himself completely, a quick motion catches his eye—Tim, in his usual calm but purposeful way, reaches for the remote and changes the channel. But it’s too late. The image of the Joker, grinning and mad, is burned into Jason's mind. The panic is relentless now.
Tim must’ve noticed the change in his breathing, the rapid, shallow gasps. "Jason, hey—" Tim’s voice is firm but gentle, his hands on Jason’s shoulders, steadying him. The world feels like it’s closing in, the walls pressing tighter, every breath harder to take. “Breathe, Jason, I need you to breathe.” Tim's words cut through the noise of his mind.
But Jason can't—he can't stop the memories, the visions of the Joker’s face, of his own past. He feels the world spinning, his heart racing in his chest like it might explode. The panic overtakes him, every nerve in his body on fire.
Tim doesn’t waste a second. He’s already reaching for the medication. "Benadryl first, then Droperidol. It’ll help, I promise. Just focus on me."
Jason’s vision blurs as the medicine burns his vein. The chemicals enter his bloodstream, and slowly, gradually, the storm inside his head begins to quiet. The panic recedes, the anxiety that had been gnawing at him fades, and for the first time in what feels like hours, he’s able to take a deep, steady breath.
"You're okay," Tim says quietly, sitting next to him. His voice is a constant anchor, a reminder that even in moments like these, Jason isn’t alone. But even as his body relaxes, his mind lingers on the escape. Joker’s out there. And that fact—that fact—sends a new wave of dread through him. The battle isn't over. Not by a long shot.
Tim sits beside Jason, his presence steadying in a way that only the youngest of the Bat-family seems capable of. He doesn’t speak at first, just watches Jason's shallow, laboring breaths as the Droperidol slowly works its magic. The anxiety in Jason’s eyes hasn't fully faded, but the storm inside his chest has begun to settle, if only slightly. Tim’s hand remains on his shoulder, a quiet gesture of reassurance, but even that feels monumental in a moment like this.
Jason’s gaze is distant, unfocused, his fingers still gripping the sheets as though he’s afraid of slipping away from something real. His voice is hoarse when it breaks the silence.
“I thought... I thought Batman would come for me,” he murmurs, his words soft but jagged, like shards of glass breaking free from a long-hidden wound. His eyes drift to the ceiling, the light above casting shadows across his face. "I really thought—"
Tim’s grip tightens just slightly, but he says nothing, just listening. This isn’t the time to say the things he should say. Right now, he needs to be the ear Jason hasn’t had in years, the presence that doesn’t ask for explanations.
“I was... I was so sure," Jason continues, his breath shaky as he struggles to put words to the feeling, to the moment of his death. "That last breath before it all went black? I swear to God, I thought I was gonna feel his hand on my shoulder. You know? Like I was gonna wake up to him telling me that I messed up, that I was a damn fool... but that I was gonna be okay."
Jason’s voice cracks, and Tim can see the tightness in his chest, the strain of that confession. It’s raw, like pulling open an old wound and exposing it to the light. There’s so much weight in those words. So much hope buried beneath the bitterness and loss.
Tim stays silent, letting Jason speak even as the younger man wrestles with the emotions that are so clearly flooding back.
“But I didn’t get to wake up to that," Jason continues, his hands trembling now. "I woke up... underground. Cold, alone.” He looks at Tim now, and Tim can see the hollow, haunted look in his eyes—like a piece of him has been missing for so long that he doesn’t even know who he is anymore. "And I thought... I thought maybe I was still dead. That I wasn’t supposed to be here, Tim. That I didn’t deserve to be here."
Tim feels a lump in his throat, his heart heavy. He knows this is hard for Jason to admit. Harder than it should be, because Jason’s never really had a place where he could be vulnerable—not after everything he’s been through, everything he’s lost. To hear his brother say that—to hear him admit that, in his last moments, he believed in Batman’s saving grace… it’s gut-wrenching.
“Jay...” Tim’s voice is soft, but it holds the weight of so much unspoken understanding. “You were never meant to be alone. Not then, and not now.”
Jason shakes his head, not quite rejecting Tim’s words, but not ready to accept them either. His lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of the ventilator behind them, its mechanical rhythm a distant reminder of how fragile life really is.
Tim watches his brother struggle. Jason closes his eyes briefly. But then Jason opens them again, and they’re not just filled with pain anymore. There’s something softer in them—almost like he's letting a little bit of that burden go.
“I didn’t think I was going to wake up,” Jason says quietly, almost to himself. “But... maybe, maybe I can learn to live with it. With all of it.”
Tim nods slowly, his heart heavy but proud. “Yeah, you can. And we’ll be here. Every step of the way.”
Jason doesn't say anything, but Tim can feel the tension in his body start to ease, just a little. The drugs have kicked in enough to take the edge off, but it’s the quiet comfort of Tim’s words that seem to anchor him more than anything else.
For the first time in a long time, Jason’s chest rises and falls with a steadiness that doesn't seem quite as fragile as before. It’s not healed, not by any means—but it’s something. Something that Tim can hold onto, even if Jason isn’t ready to yet.
Tim leans back slightly, his hand still resting gently on Jason’s arm, a quiet reassurance that despite everything, they’ll face this together. Even if Jason doesn’t believe it yet, Tim will. Because family—this family—doesn’t abandon each other. Not when things are hard. Not when the darkness is heavy.