Chapter Text
Blueprints covered every inch of the table, haphazardly taped together and annotated in every color, in every which way possible.
Bruce stares intently at a section, worrying his lip in between his bottom teeth.
Daddy! Your eyes were sparkling when you surprised him in his office, holding up a matcha tiramisu tart in front of his mouth, flaky crumbs dropping onto a report his eyes had been slowly glazing over. Try this pastry! This new bakery just opened and I waited in line for hours just to bring this over.
It was too sweet for him –- but he didn’t mind if it meant a giddy smile spread across your face.
He blinks again and the scene changes in front of him, slowly reverting back to the blue graph paper spread across the table. The marker he was holding had been bleeding into the paper, a dark black spot vividly standing out among the white lines.
He shakes his head, dropping the marker. They were so close.
He couldn’t afford to be distracted. The clock on the corner of the livestream continued to count down, one agonizing second after second.
There was no time to lose.
Bruce jolts when Jason slams his palms on the table. “It’s here! It has to be.” Jason stares wildly back and forth at Dick and Bruce who were hurriedly walking towards him. Alfred had even walked closer cautiously, although his heavy footsteps betrayed his urgency.
“Look,” Jason points at an abandoned wing of Gotham Academy, far away from the main campus, “It has to be here. There are other abandoned wings but they’re not close enough to the main campus to still have a strong enough network connection to maintain a strong internet connection. It’s close enough to the kitchens and the dining hall for Jonathan to sneak in food and water for her but still far away for no one to hear her.”
He circles the building, “This is a storage building. It’s the only place where there could be no windows and still fits all the criteria.”
He looks up eagerly, practically vibrating in place. “This has to be it! What the hell are we waiting for?” Jason curls his hand over the gun in his holster, legs itching. “Let’s go!”
Bruce says nothing, eyebrows creasing as he studies the blueprint. Dick watches intently, eyes darting from the blueprint to the hopeful gaze in Jason’s eyes. Bruce’s breath escapes him in short bursts. He wants to believe. He wants to believe it more than anything in the world.
But the thought of another dead end was too much to bear.
“Master Bruce.” Bruce blinks, startled when Alfred places a hand on his shoulder. “There is only one way to find out.”
His eyes glance once last time over to the livestream where you lay on the cot. You haven't moved for days. He tries not to look at it too much. If it wasn’t for the smallest movement of the rise and fall of your chest, he would’ve thought it was something else - something he didn’t ever want to think about.
Dick stares at Bruce, eyes hopeful. His fingers itch over his escrima sticks, dancing over the top. He needed to move. He needed to do something.
Dick and Jason hold their breath— waiting, waiting, waiting.
Bruce finaly nods, his shoulders dropping. “Get ready.”
x.
Bruce’s knuckles connect with the side of Jonathan’s face, the burlap sack scratching against his skin.
Behind him, he can hear Jason shouting, curses flying out of his mouth so fast that it would shock a sailor as he grapples with a henchman before taking him down. From the corner of his eye, Dick flips through the air, his escrima sticks now a long spear which he was using to strike another henchman.
Jonathan lets out a grunt, choking when Bruce lifts him up by the collar. He growls, his voice distorted by the modulator. “Where is she?”
Jonathan laughs, blood smudged along the side of his mouth. “You’re too late, Batman.” He stares maniacally into Bruce’s eyes. “The experiment has already proven itself to be most useful.” Jonathan’s eyes flicker back to the livestream — back at the unmoving body lying on the cot. “She already doesn’t believe you’d come for her.”
For half a second, Bruce stops breathing. The static in his ears grows stronger, roaring with every beat of his heart.
Jonathan grins, eyes unhinged. “I’ve been perfecting something that a Wayne can’t ever undo!”
The wall cracks when Bruce slams him into it with more force than necessary, his heart racing with panic. His hands shake as he tightens his grip on Jonathan’s collar. Jonathan grunts, blood spitting out his mouth. The idea of slamming him into the wall again and again, the idea of making him pay for every little thing he did to his daughter grew more appealing with every second — but he shoved it down like bile.
“Tell me where she is.”
Jason kicks away the last of the henchmen, running over to Bruce’s side. His gun shakes in his hands, pointing it at Jonathan. “Answer him, you fucker.”
“Hurry up and talk.” Dick snaps, breaking his staff back into batons. “We’re done with your games here.”
“Would you look at that?” Jonathan coughs, blood slick over his teeth and bruised chin. He smiles manically. “Big bad Batman and his little birds, flapping in circles over one scared girl.” He grins, teeth red. “You think she wants to be saved by you? She hates you for what you made her believe.”
He leans forward as much as he can in Bruce’s grip. “I did nothing to her. All I had to do was use her fear of men like you — of power, of masks, of promises that always break.”
Jonathan laughs again, flecks of blood and spit landing on Bruce’s mask.
Something in Jason explodes, his fingers squeezing the trigger. The bullet embeds itself into the wall right next to Jonathan’s face, debris flying everywhere. His knuckles whiten around the gun. Jonathan yelps, writhing wildly in Bruce’s grasp.
“Quit playing.” Jason rasps, fingers shaking. “Tell us where she is or the next bullet is in your face.”
Batman curls his hand tighter around Jonathan’s collar, but takes a glance at Jason. “Holster it.” The command echoes in the small control room, amplifying Bruce’s satisfaction. He shouldn’t feel this way - but he does. It wasn’t even a fraction of what Jonathan deserved after everything he did to you. Jason’s shoulders tense, but he does as Bruce commands, shoving his gun into the holster.
Jonathan heaves, choking at the tight grip. “It seems this is a very personal case for you, Red Hood. Does the classic ‘damsel in distress’ do something to you?” He taunts, smirk widening.
That was it. Dick’s eyes narrow, his hands darting to his escrima sticks before he can even think. He lunges forward, a swift kick to Jonathan’s ribs followed by a precise strike to the temple. Jonathan collapses to the floor, out cold before he even hits the ground.
Jason exhales, fingers loosening on his holster while Bruce studies the unconscious villain collapsed on the floor.
“Finally,” Jason mutters, though his eyes never leave Jonathan’s crumpled form, “I was getting fucking sick of that pervert’s psychotic ramblings.”
Bruce glances at Dick after a moment, a single nod of acknowledgement between them. “Tie him up.” Bruce steps away, staring at the control panels and screens. He avoids the screen showing your unmoving body, focusing on the rest of the empty hallways and rooms.
Jason looks up when he hears a dull tap against one of the screens, Bruce’s finger drumming on a screen. “She’s on the top floor.”
Jonathan’s body hits the floor again when Jason haphazardly shoves him against the wall. “We move out now.” Batman takes another glance at the unconscious body. “Bring him too. We can’t afford to let him get loose.”
Dick nods, dragging Jonathan by the collar before following the two men out the door.
The hallway is never ending, or at least, it feels like it is to Jason. The corridor is completely dark, save for the bright light at the end of the hall. He stares at the paintings on the walls, rows of alumni and professors that stare right back. Their painted faces hold no emotion as they watch the trio of men (and one unconscious man) walk along the hall, only silently watching and waiting.
x.
Footsteps descend the hallway, each one closer to your room. Your heartbeat quickens, tears immediately pricking at the corners of your eyes before you force yourself to blink them away.
Jonathan had been coming by more often—the burlap sack was always the first thing you saw as he towered over you on the cot, always, always, always too close, leaving you no choice but to stare into the dirty mask.
Were those multiple footsteps? You sit up, head cocked to the side, ears straining. One, two, three, four? You can’t tell. Or maybe you’re imagining it.
Your chest tightens. Panic claws at your throat, but you force yourself to swallow it down. Not this time. Not again. You’ve seen this before. You’ve been tricked before. You remind yourself it’s just a test, a trick—but your hands tremble, your fingers curling into the sheets as your breath comes in short, shallow bursts.
You lay back down as quickly as you can, curling up into a ball. The tattered blanket is pulled over you as your hand holds a water bottle tight in your hand.
You refuse to fall for it ever again.