The Batmobile raved into the cave, its engines echoing through the stone chamber before cutting off with a hiss. The sound of hydraulics released a puff of smoke as the cockpit slid open. Batman stepped out immediately, looking more tensed than usual.
"Welcome back, Master Bruce," Alfred greeted, rising from Bruce's chair beside the console. His tone carried its usual calm, though the subtle tightness in his voice gave away his concern. "Any word yet on Master Richard's whereabouts?"
Bruce's boots clicked against the metal floor as he strode toward the massive computer array. "Nothing so far," he said, his voice low, heavy with restrained frustration. He gave Damian a brief, piercing glance—one that said more than words could—before settling into the chair.
Alfred stepped closer with a soft expression in his eyes, worried. "Are you absolutely certain Master Jason is responsible for this?" he asked, though there was a faint, hopeful doubt in his tone, as if he wanted Bruce to tell him otherwise.
"As much as I'd like to think otherwise," Bruce said, pulling off his cowl and tossing it onto the console, "it's the only theory that fits." His fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up a cascade of footage and data.
"There was no lead left behind. And as I expand my search radius, still nothing. It's as if they vanished."
He paused, exhaling through his nose before continuing. "Red Hood knows my methods too well. He's studied them. He's lived them. If he doesn't want to be found—he won't be."
The monitors cast a cold blue glow across his face, making the deep lines around his eyes seem sharper. He stared blankly at the data for a moment before muttering, "And we don't even know if Dick is still alive."
"Of course he is," Damian said suddenly, his voice came through the silence. He stood near the steps with his arms folded tightly across his chest. "If Jason did take him, he wouldn't go that far. Not with him."
Bruce turned in his chair, his tone turning hard. "You should be more remorseful, Damian. This wouldn't have happened if you'd shared the third location with Dick and me." His voice sounding grave with every word.
"Not only did you disobey orders, you took Red Hood with you—without authorization. You trusted him instead of your team. You have no idea how dangerous he is."
Damian's jaw tightened. "It's you who have no idea what Jason is capable of." His green eyes burned with defiance. "I've seen what he's done—both when he trained with the League and as Red Hood. He's reckless, yes. Brutal. But I know he wouldn't kill Dick."
Bruce's expression hardened, his voice dropping to that low, measured tone that always carried weight. "And what makes you so certain?"
"Because," Damian said, stepping forward slightly, his fists clenched at his sides, "unlike you, I haven't lost faith in him. I don't believe he's fallen that far. Not enough to kill someone he once called family."
With that, he turned sharply on his heel and stormed out of the cave, his cape flaring behind him.
The heavy echo of his footsteps faded, leaving an uneasy silence. Bruce leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose before resting his elbows on his knees. A tired sigh escaped him.
"You know," Alfred said gently as he approached, "he reminds me an awful lot of you when you were his age. Not just in looks—but in temperament. That stubborn streak runs deep in the Wayne bloodline."
Bruce didn't respond immediately. His eyes were still fixed on the monitors, though his focus had drifted. Alfred placed a hand on his shoulder, the small gesture grounding him.
"The difference," Alfred continued softly, "is that Master Damian grew up in a world where he was forced to think and act like an adult long before he had the chance to be a child. He doesn't even know how to be one."
Bruce finally looked up at him, exhaustion clouding his features. "I don't know what to do, Alfred," he admitted. "Without proper guidance, he's a danger to himself. But sending him away... that isn't the answer either. I've thought about sending him to a boarding school, overseas—but it wouldn't hold him. Instead, it would give him more freedom."
Alfred chuckled quietly, folding his hands behind his back. "Oh, without question. And if by some miracle he stayed, he'd be running the entire school by the end of the term."
A faint, weary smile tugged at the corner of Bruce's mouth. It didn't last. "I'm worried about Dick," he said, his voice low again. "And Damian… I can't reach him. Every time I try, I just push him further away." He exhaled slowly, rubbing the side of his temple. "Any advice, Alfred?"
Alfred looked at him with quiet understanding. "Patience, sir. Be patient with the boy. As for Master Richard, all we can do now is hold onto hope—and pray that something turns up soon." He straightened his vest, already turning toward the exit. "In the meantime, I'll prepare some tea to help ease your nerves. Worrying yourself sick won't do any good for anyone."
"Thank you, Alfred," Bruce murmured.
As Alfred's footsteps faded up the stairs, Bruce sat there in the hum of the Batcave—the faint drip of water from the stalactites, the echo of computer fans, the distant flutter of bats overhead. His eyes drifted to the weapons rack near the corner, where Nightwing's escrima sticks rested side by side, faintly glinting under the cave's soft lighting.
He reached out, fingers brushing over one of them. His jaw clenched.
"Please," he whispered to the silence. "Be okay. Just… hold on a little longer. I'll find you."
The computer screens flickered across his face, lines of data and satellite feeds reflected in his tired eyes. But beneath the exhaustion and doubt, there was still that faint, unshakable resolve—the quiet promise that Batman would never stop searching.
- - -
The heat was unbearable, each breath scraping Dick's throat like sandpaper. His lungs burned as smoke filled the cellar, choking out the last traces of oxygen. The iron chain around his neck rattled weakly as he tugged at it one final time. It barely budged. His vision blurred, and the fiery glow around him pulsed in and out like a heartbeat.
"I guess this is the end for me," he muttered, slumping back against the cracked wall. The world swayed as exhaustion took hold.
Memories—faces—flashed before his eyes: Bruce's grim stare, Damian's scowl, Alfred's faint smile, the dysfunctional members of the Titans. and Kori's radiant warmth. "I'm sorry, Kori…" he whispered, his voice barely audible beneath the crackling of the flames. His eyelids grew heavy.
CLANK.
The sound of a sudden sharp metallic snap jolted him back. Through the haze, he barely made out a shadow—someone made way through the thick smoke. His eyes fought to focus, but all he could distinguish was a red bat emblem glinting through the flickering firelight.
A figure with a blade stepped forward, and before Dick could process anything, his body was hoisted off the ground and thrown over a shoulder. The world spun. His consciousness slipped.
When he came to, he was lying on cool earth, coughing violently. The bitter taste of smoke clung to his tongue. His chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself.
"Wake up, sleeping beauty," a familiar voice called out.
Dick blinked hard, his eyes watering as he focused on the figure crouched beside him. Dick Grayson—coughing, bruised, covered in soot—looked just as battered as he felt.
"You bloody rascal," Dick wheezed, giving a pained grin. "You had me scared shitless for a minute there."
Jason said nothing, just rose to his feet and scanned the treeline around them.
The air was cooler here, crisp and damp. Smoke still hung faintly in the distance, but the forest swallowed most of it. He turned in a slow circle, his sharp eyes flicking through the trees.
"Where the hell are we?" Dick asked, glancing around the thick woods.
"I don't know," Jason said, scanning the path ahead. "But if we keep heading that way, we'll hit a road. Hopefully one that leads to a town." He extended a hand to Dick, who hesitated for a second before taking it.
"How do you know?" Dick asked, brushing dirt off his shoulders.
"Tracking. One of the many things I picked up with the League," Jason said casually. "Doesn't matter if it's people or animals—everything leaves a trail."
Dick nodded slowly, half impressed, half suspicious. "Nice hairdo, by the way. Bold choice."
Jason didn't bite. He just kept walking, silent and focused. The only sounds were the crunch of their boots and the occasional rustle of small creatures darting through the underbrush. The quiet between them stretched, heavy and awkward.
"Thanks for saving me back there," Dick said finally, his voice breaking through the stillness. It sounded sincere.
"Don't mention it," Jason replied, eyes still forward.
"Not to ruin the moment, but what made you change your mind?" Dick pressed, curious. "You weren't exactly Mr. Team Player before."
Jason exhaled through his nose, glancing briefly at him. "When I got out, I found my gear in an empty cabin near the cellar. This too." He handed Dick his mask.
"I was too weak to fight if I got ambushed, and the odds weren't looking great. So, I figured I needed something."
Dick raised a brow. "And that was…?"
Jason smirked faintly. "A meat shield. You came to mind, so I went back."
Dick rolled his eyes. "You know, with that attitude, it's no wonder you and the little demon get along so well."
Jason just shrugged.
After some time trudging through brush and uneven dirt, the trees thinned, and the bright glint of asphalt appeared ahead.
"Finally, a road," Dick said, relief evident in his voice.
They stopped just short of the open stretch. It was daytime now—early evening, judging by the light. The sun glinted off their armor. "We can't walk out there dressed like this," Jason muttered. "We'll stick to the woods until we find something useful."
"Fine," Dick replied. "Any idea who grabbed us? Or how they pulled it off?"
Jason shook his head. "No one was there when I got out. Just that old cabin and a field. Looked like a farm that's been abandoned for years."
"So basically, we've got no idea who our 'mummy' was or why we were targeted. Fantastic." Dick sighed, raking his fingers through his hair.
Jason shot him a glare. "Do you ever shut the hell up?"
"Of course not," Dick said easily. "Talking's one of my charms. It's what I do."
Jason scoffed. "Your girlfriend must be one unlucky woman if she has to listen to that all the time."
"She loves me just the way I am, thank you very much," Dick said, grinning. "Speaking of which, there's a party at the Tower. You should drop by—meet the team. I'm sure your sparkling personality would make a killer first impression."
Jason grumbled under his breath, "Just one bullet. A single bullet to the head would shut him up for good."
"What was that?" Dick asked, half nervous, half amused.
Jason ignored him. "Whoever took us wanted barbequed vigilante/hero meat for dinner," he muttered, his voice darkening as his thoughts drifted. The image of the burned figure—the voice, the laughter—haunted him. He still couldn't tell how their captor knew those things about him.
Then theirs his lapses of time, the blackouts might be happening maybe a lot more than he realize, and from that memory it felt more like someone else taking the wheel.
"Maybe it was someone who hates Batman and decided to take it out on us," Dick suggested.
Jason shook his head. "No. Any villain worth the name would've shown their face, gloated a little before lighting the fire. Whoever this was—they wanted it done while keeping us in total ignorance. Which makes it worse."
The two walked on, the sound of their footsteps mixing with the whisper of the wind through the trees. Jason's mind wandered between suspicion and dread, while Dick kept his usual optimism—though even he couldn't hide the unease creeping in.
Neither of them said it out loud, but they both knew the same thing—something about that night still felt off and it might not be over.