Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bruce shot up in his bed, eyes wide open and blanket pooling in his lap. Another nightmare. The same one as always.

A sigh escaped the man’s tired lips; it seemed every time he even tried to get some much-needed sleep, it was stolen from him just as quickly. Bruce rubbed one of his eyes, the free one glancing to the side to look at his clock. 6:47. He’d only been asleep for around two hours. It’s far too early to start his morning routine, but…

A bit of thinking wouldn’t hurt him.

Bruce shifted to sit up against the headboard, rubbing his temple to try and get rid of the fatigue-induced headache he had. It provided temporary relief. What had he dreamt of? Well, the same thing as any other night. Walking down a dark street. The warmth of his parents’ hands. A scramble. Two shots. Pearls clattering against the concrete. The stillness of his parents’ hands. Bruce held back an emotionally disturbed groan, thinking harder. Something else was in the dream. Something unusual.

The shooter, Joe Chill. His eyes…were different. They glimmered with yellow, a shade of yellow Bruce felt was familiar. His mother’s and father’s eyes looked like that, too. He felt like their hands were too warm. What was going on?

Bruce blinked. A yellow triangle appeared behind his eyelids.

He jolted slightly as this happened. Wanting to make sure he saw that correctly, Bruce blinked again, keeping his eyes closed. Nope. Nothing. A normal blink. No results.

Maybe it was just a trick of his mind, he thought. He was tired, anyway. He hadn’t slept in 5 days. 3 was pushing it for his brain, let alone 5.

But that shade of yellow…

Before Bruce knew it, he was lifting off his bed, the groan of the mattress piercing through the silence of his dark room. He grabbed the robe hanging on his doorknob, pulling it on as he started to shuffle through the hallways of Wayne Manor. Soon, Bruce arrived in front of the Batcomputer.

“Computer,” Bruce started, his slightly hoarse voice reminding him to drink water.

“Show me the Mesmer case again.”

———

Hours upon hours of work went by, just like that.

Bruce didn’t even notice what time it was until his alarm went off. The alarm to wake himself up for the day.

“Goddamnit.” Bruce groaned out through gritted teeth, hands tightening on the edge of the table. He didn’t mean to work on cases for so long, but he wanted to multitask the Mesmer and the Reynoso case. He’d lost track of time.

Another night of what should’ve been a time to sleep, ruined by his own inability to simply lay down and close his eyes again.

Bruce stood up. Though, as he took one last glance at the clock on the Batcomputer, he thought he saw the numbers turn into shapes.

No. That didn’t happen. It’s a fatigue-induced hallucination. He needs to finish his day, and then he’ll sleep after patrol.

———

The day? Same as usual. Showing up to meetings, plastering a beaming smile on his face, sweet-talking to shoe-licking employees that begged for promotions with their smiles alone. It was never fun, but it was necessary. Bruce needed to keep up his “sexy billionaire” status, after all.

The night?

Oh, the night.

Bruce understood that patrol was unpredictable, yes, but he would’ve never thought it would be like this.

The night started relatively normal, actually. Bruce swung around, dropping down onto thugs who didn’t (and won’t ever) stand a chance, taking them out with ease. He was like a mindless drone at this point, keeping the same routine up. Same moves, same tactics. He never had to think about it too hard.

Bruce, at that time, was in the middle of following a recent cold case. By the suspicious lack of obvious evidence, he was able to piece together it wasn’t done on a whim. Somebody had planned it.

As he finished slamming his knee into some criminal’s head, Batman flung himself over to the last remaining thug, holding him up by his neck.

“Who do you work for,” Batman growled out, eyes narrowing at the horrified thug’s fearful face.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, B-Batman! I ain’t work for nobody!!” The criminal choked out, voice shaking with fear.

A pathetic excuse for a lie. Batman scoffed, pinning the thug to the wall.

Batman’s grip tightened. “I advise you to tell the truth.”

As this conversation continued for a bit longer, Batman realized he was getting nowhere with this. Maybe this thug was being truthful. He punched the criminal to knock him out, letting go soon after. Afterwards, he looked up…

The Batsignal.

Bruce was already gone to whoever could’ve been watching him in the alley — like he was just a shadow. One could say more of a bat than a man. He arrived at the GCPD’s roof quicker than usual, which was truly saying something.

Commissioner James Gordon turned around at the familiar sound of Batman’s ominous footfall, his gray eyebrows raising in slight surprise.

“Well, that was fast,” Gordon started. His eyebrows fell back into place. “Happen to be nearby at the right time?”

Batman drew his cape around himself out of habit. Not a reclusive action, just something he did. “Not necessarily.”

His eyes flicked down to Gordon’s hand. A file. Fresh, by the looks of it. Batman looked up and spoke again.

“What’s that file.” Sounded less like a question, more akin to a statement.

Gordon was taking slow steps forward as he opened up the file. “New killer’s been running around,” he said, halting when he was a comfortable distance away from Batman. “Thought you’d be interested, since it doesn’t seem to be just one person.”

Gordon held out the opened file. Batman unintentionally let out a tired sigh as his eyes looked over the photos and words. Yep. Either this was multiple different people, or a killer with a lot of variety.

Then, his eyes caught something. Batman looked back at the last photo. A yellow triangle was on the wall, reflected by the mirror in the photo.

Batman’s gaze hardened. He’d recognize that shade of yellow anywhere. “Gordon.”

The commissioner perked up, shifting to look at the photo Batman was gazing so intently at.

“The yellow triangle.” Batman continued. He was already flipping through the other pages, checking every photo.

“Or should you say, triangles..” Gordon muttered as he, too, saw the shape in each photo. “Y’think this killer’s just learning about shapes and colors?”

Batman scoffed at the joke, a smirk curling on his lips despite himself. “Maybe.”

He stopped on the first photo. Yep. Triangle.

Batman looked up at Commissioner Gordon. “Why aren’t these written about?”

Gordon sighed, thinking for a moment. He glanced at Batman.

“Well, Batman—“

Realization dawned on Gordon’s face.

“They weren’t there when we took the photos.”

Chapter Text

Batman’s gaze snapped back to Commissioner Gordon’s face.

“What do y—“

Unfortunately, before he could say anything, the door to the rooftop was slammed open. A disheveled-looking younger cop, who had run through the entire building to get here, by the looks of them, was huffing and puffing.

“Commissioner…!” The cop wheezed, too busy catching their breath to look up and realize Batman was standing right there. “I—“

Gordon interrupted the gasping cop. “Jones, catch your breath. You’re gonna pass out at this rate.”

The officer, Jones, finally stopped to properly breathe. They spoke after a bit of huffing. “The… the autopsy reports—“

At that point in time, Jones had looked up and saw Batman. They froze, eyes widening. Jones sputtered for a second, eyes darting between Batman and the Commissioner, mouth opening and closing. They kind of resembled a floundering fish.

“C-commissioner, wha—“

“Pay no mind to him, kid.” Gordon huffed a laugh, a smirk tugging at his lips. “We’ll get to it. Promise. Just go drink some water, ‘right?”

Jones babbled for a second more. Then, they nodded quickly, turning around and making their way down the stairs, albeit stumbling slightly. Gordon chuckled lightly, fondness glinting in his weathered eyes. A rare sight, Batman realized.

“They’re a good kid, Batman.”

The slight fatherly smile on James’ face faded as he stared at the place the younger cop had stood. He let out a scoff. A weak attempt at a laugh to cover his feelings a bit.

“Sometimes, I fear this city’ll tear ‘em apart.”

Batman looked towards Gordon with a glint in his eyes that one may describe as sympathetic. He blinked once, and it was gone. Looking towards the door, Batman started to approach it.

“The bodies can give us clues.” Batman murmured as he made his way down the stairs, ignoring any other cops that could’ve been there to watch in awe. Gordon followed closely. Though he knew Batman couldn’t see him, he nodded along anyways.

When they arrived at the morgue, a body was already available for them. The forensic investigator, a very serious-looking woman, looked up as she heard them enter. James nodded at her.

“Claire.”

Claire returned the gesture respectfully. “Commissioner.” She then shifted to the side, giving the two room to look at the body.

James’ nose scrunched up slightly at the sight. A purple line around the victim’s neck, clear as day. Bruises littered her skin. She had fought, but she didn’t win. “Poor woman.”

Batman looked down at her hands. Without thinking, he reached for one — checking for anything under the nails.

The woman’s arm moved. Though it was limp, it still moved.

…That’s not right.

Batman immediately looked to Claire, noticing her wide-eyed gaze.

“How long has she been deceased?”

Claire stood there for a moment, frozen. Then, she managed to gasp out a response.

“Sh-she went into rigor mortis when I was in the middle of inspecting her, that’s—“

Claire’s sentence stopped there. The usually unflappable woman was horrified. Batman’s eyes narrowed as he looked back to the woman’s limp hand, moving her fingers around. No stiffness at all. As if rigor mortis never touched her.

The commissioner was at a loss for words.

As they all stared at the body’s hand in Batman’s, Batman felt a pain shoot through his head, making him wrench his eyes shut. It was like a clean line, starting from his forehead and shooting through the back of his head. Like a bullet. A flash of something in his mind made him stagger slightly, James quickly moving to make sure he didn’t fall.

Triangles. Yellow. Everywhere.

Batman’s eyes snapped open.

Gordon attempted to speak up. “Batman, are you—“

Batman quickly moved forward, turning the body over like it was something necessary—

And there it was. A large thick-lined yellow triangle. The bottom angles started underneath the woman’s shoulder blades, and the tip of the triangle pointed directly towards the gruesome purple line that surrounded her neck.

That shade of yellow matched the flickers of hallucinations.

Bruce would never forget it.

——

It was all over the papers the next day.

‘Recent murders suggest a group of people are targeting; Watch out for yellow triangles.’

Well, that was a rather anticlimactic title, wasn’t it?

Bruce was lost in thought, staring at the newspaper on his desk, when the room to his office suddenly opened. He looked up, immediately plastering on his rich boy smile.

“Can I help you?”

The person who walked in was somebody Bruce had seen around, sometimes — Brown hair, blue-eyed guy; worked in a lower floor.

So, that’s why Bruce’s smile almost faltered as he saw a hint of yellow in those eyes. He convinced himself it was an anxiety-caused hallucination, this time.

The man, whose nametag read ‘Harry’, gave a nod to Bruce. Then, Harry glanced down to Bruce’s desk, seeing the newspaper.

“You like the news?”

Bruce glanced down, letting out a small chuckle. “Oh, yes, I dabble in it occasionally.”

He subtly put it away as he looked back up at Harry, asking a question. “Need anything, Harry?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, just a small technical problem downstairs. Boss isn’t really telling anybody, so I had to take things into my own hands, y’know?”

Bruce let out the most authentic playful scoff he could muster. Pulling out a sticky note, he began to write a reminder and a first draft for the E-Mail he was going to send.

“I’ll be sure to let Gauthier know to listen to her employees…”

Harry chuckled, too. Then, his smile faded, being replaced with a thoughtful expression.

“You know, I read that article, too. Tragic, isn’t it?? Especially the latest one. Gosh, I feel bad for that woman…plus, the triangle was weird!”

Bruce stopped writing.

Seeing how Bruce didn’t respond, Harry continued, casually leaning against Bruce’s desk.

“Weird how it just appeared during the autopsy. I heard Batman saw it! I didn’t know cops worked with him, now!”

Bruce looked up at Harry. Something was wrong with him. Something was very wrong with Harry. Clearing his throat slightly, Bruce forced his smile back onto his face to the best of his ability.

“Thanks for making me aware of your problem, Harry. You’re free to go.”

Harry smiled back at Bruce, and then turned to leave, shutting the door behind him.

…Harry’s smile was too wide.

Chapter Text

Bruce had another sleepless night after what happened with Harry. The smile Harry had flashed to Bruce was burned into his head, and no matter how hard he tried, it wouldn’t go away. The way his teeth seemed to be too straight. The way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. Bruce had been awake all night, looking into Harry. His background, his family, everything.

Harry’s full name was Harry Kazanaki-Jackson, his birthday was April 14th, and he was 33 years old.

Criminal record? Clean, other than an incident of stealing at 15. Normal teenager behavior, but the lack of any evidence made Bruce grit his teeth. A fast food place as his first job, college being pursued in the process, god damn it nothing was here. Bruce looked into his mother. A normal woman named Phoebe Kazanaki, recently divorced. His father? A normal man, Henry Keaton-Jackson. Harry’s entire family was almost cookie cutter in terms of criminal records; they were all clean. The most was attempted murder from his uncle, who was registered into an asylum and diagnosed with schizophrenia.

Nothing. He had nothing on Harry’s family, no sign of cultish activity. So, Bruce moved back to the main point, which, of course, was Harry himself.

He’d moved to Gotham about two years ago; 1997 24th Street.

Time to look for clues.

——

Batman watched the house from a nearby rooftop. It looked…quite normal. Almost too normal. His sharp eyes ran over the house, trying to find any imperfections. He was met with almost none, which was extremely unusual, considering the conditions of the other houses on the street. Glancing at them for reference, Batman was met with chipped paint, cracked windows, and missing parts of fences. This house didn’t have much flaws, if any at all.

The Bat leaped down from the roof, making sure he completely got over the fence, then swiftly rolled over to the nearest window, carefully peeking in.

...That’s weird.

He was met with darkness. Not like the night’s darkness, no, Batman could see just fine in your average night’s darkness, but this? This was pitch black. This was how the shadows used to look to Bruce, especially when…

A rustle of leaves made Bruce snap out of his daze, his head snapping towards where the sound was made; a bush.

Another rustle, this time more violent. The bush shook. Before Batman could really decide if he should skitter away or not, a high-pitched sound of pain escaped the bundle of leaves.

A cat. There was a cat in the bush. Bruce could tell.

He crouched down in front of the bush and went for his utility belt, searching for a batarang (to cut the twigs, of course). When he found one, Bruce started to slowly push aside the leaves, quickly finding the poor cat.

It was scratched up and tangled, a hurt meow escaping its throat as it tried to struggle. Bruce, while making sure to keep the cat safe, cut all the twigs that she was tangled in. Poison Ivy wouldn’t happy with him for this. Finally, Batman was able to slowly pick up the cat. Seeing no collar, he assumed it would be easier to just drop her off at a shelter. So, he started walking.

It was a long walk, going from the neighborhood to the nearest shelter while holding an injured cat, but Batman didn’t care. He wasn’t equipped to take care of a cat, no, no way. The strange thing, though, was he cared about this cat much more than Harry, now. Maybe he wanted to avoid it. He didn’t know. As Bruce passed an apartment building, his pace stopped. He looked up at it, squinting.

That was it, alright. Selina’s apartment. Something in Bruce’s chest curled, and whether it was one feeling or the other was left up to nothing but his own mind.

But Bruce was never one for feelings, so he pushed it all down with a swallow.

Making sure to keep a good hold on the cat in his arms, he shot his grappling hook onto the roof of the building, then carefully lowered himself onto the fire escape. The memory of the lock being broken made him immediately open the window. Bruce leaned over, carefully placed the injured cat on the floor, then yanked his hands away like the cat burnt them. He shoved the window down, grappling away while trying his best to ignore the way his heart was pounding in his ears. God, can you believe it? The Batman himself, all worked up over practically nothing. His next thought about himself came out loud as he grappled, not even knowing where he was going.

“Unprofessional and pathetic.”

Chapter Text

Batman swiftly flung himself onto an apartment building, putting his grapple in its holster while he started to leap across the rooftops. The thoughts of Harry and his house were completely gone from his mind; all he could focus on was running and jumping, running and jumping, over and over again. This was something Bruce usually did to clear his mind during patrol- after all, there were some thoughts he didn't want to focus on. Thoughts he didn't need to focus on. Like Selina. Selina Kyle, Catwoman, her apartment, the hours he'd spent in it, the moments they-

Batman promptly tripped on a ledge and went tumbling for the alley floor. He hit the hard concrete, the air getting forced out of his lungs from the impact. Batman practically wheezed for breath, untangling himself from his cape as he stumbled upwards. Hoping he had some dignity left, the Bat looked around the alley. Nobody there. Okay. Great. He's fine. With intent to leave the alley, he turned towards where he believed the mouth was.

...Batman blinked at the solid wall he was met with.

What?

He turned around again. It looked the same. Just the shadows of the alley. He looked up. Pitch black, just like what he saw when he looked through the window. What was going on? Maybe Scarecrow
had used fear toxin on him. No, no, that couldn't be, he felt fine. He wasn't coughing. So, with that out of the question, Batman cautiously made his way into the darkness.

At first, Batman could see just fine. Further progression into the alley, though, showed him that it just kept getting darker and darker. Fortunately, he had a solution.

"Detective mode." Those two muttered words made his world much clearer, now, some of the Batcomputer's statistics about his surroundings popping up in the corners of his vision. Wait, the statistics. Something was wrong. All that showed in any text boxes was gibberish, seeming to warp more and more the longer he looked at them. Batman's eyes squinted at the text, trying to decipher it, but it just became more distorted. What the hell.

"Computer," Bruce hesitantly called out. "Call Oracle."

Bruce waited, still progressing through the alley.

Nothing. Not even a ring. Nothing.

Bruce's pace picked up. Where was this alley leading? Was it even an alley? Was the Scarecrow actually here? What was going on?

Finally, a faint light at the end of the alley came into view. Bruce's swift walking turned into a run immediately, the light coming closer. Before he could run further, some outside force made him stop in his tracks. No matter how hard Bruce tried, his feet were tethered to the ground, like somebody had drilled the soles of his boots into the floor. He couldn't move.

Bruce looked up towards the light, and what he was met with made his breath stop.

His parents.

Their faces were blurry, though. Like somebody had painted them on, then quickly smeared them off while the paint was still wet. Bruce couldn't see their features, but he knew it was them. It had to be. He wanted to call out to them, but he felt like a stone was in his throat. Bruce tried to speak; a mere breath of air exited.
They didn't do anything. Bruce's parents just stood there. No eyes could be seen on either of them, but Bruce could tell they were looking at him. The familiar feeling of being watched weighed on him like an anchor, digging into his neck and shoulders. If their stares were judging, he wouldn't be able to tell. If they were proud, he wouldn't be able to tell. He just knew they could see him, that they were looking at him. He didn't test if he could move. He wouldn't be able to if he tried, anyways. Bruce wasn't even sure if he was blinking.

Time seemed to drag on and on. His parents? Their faces warped even more than they already were, swirling, contorting into something Bruce couldn't recognize if he tried. But he knew it was them. It had to be them. Bruce swallowed, trying to make the lump in his throat go down with his saliva. The only way it could go was up, though, because before Bruce knew it, he had let a sob out. He tried to reach out for his parents, tried to communicate that he cared, that he wanted to see them again, that he missed them, that—

A gasp forced itself out of Bruce's throat as his eyes snapped open. He sat up, quickly looking around.

He was in the alley.

Bruce turned towards the mouth of the alley, disoriented. It looked normal. Everything did. The man could barely stand up. He felt nauseous, sick. He felt horrible. His entire body swayed as he quickly tried to balance himself by leaning against the wall, hands pressing against it for even a bit of reassurance that yes, this was real. Finally, the little contents of what he ate came spilling out, painting some of the wall and floor of the unfortunate alley. He choked on his own spit, throat burning slightly as he desperately sucked in air. He was in no state to continue patrol. He had to go home early.

"Computer," Bruce gasped, struggling to even process the words coming out of his mouth. "Call..call Al…Alfred, please."

Bruce didn’t even notice his tears.