50th Celebration

2027

========================

Chapter 1

The Batarang whizzed past his face, grazing his ear as it thunked into the wall in front of him. 

"Stop right there, Joker." 

Whipping around, the Joker flashed him his widest, darkest grin.

"Oooh, are you going to tell me a joke, Bats? I have been dying for that for years, ever since we first met. You remember that? I do. I wanted you dead. Because I didn’t realise how fun you were. You kept me fit. Kept me spry. BUT… Neither of us is getting any younger."

His eyes never left Batman as he monologued. 

"I turned the big 5-0 recently. I know, I know, I barely look out of high school, all fresh-faced and butter wouldn’t melt, but I can feel it. The aches and pains. And the mornings. Oooh, the mornings. Sometimes it takes me a while to find the motivation to get my ass out of bed, throw on my best suit and give the city a great big" --- he blows a large wet raspberry --- "And I am tired. So very tired of this little dance of ours. So I decided to use my B-Day wish. A very special wish. For my birthday, I wished that one of us … would die."

His grin widened. He ran his tongue across his teeth. 

"I know, I know, very morbid, but bear with me, because I have a point to all this. You see, I have killed… a lot of people. I have murdered. Pillaged. Stolen… and hell punched a few Nazis in the face, all for good measure. And you know what… None of it matters. Because when you die, that’s it. You are but a footnote in this crazy world of ours. And that … well, that terrifies me. I don’t want to go. Not without leaving Gotham one final gag. One last laugh. One that will see me remembered for long to come. I want to go out with a--- A massive explosion from somewhere in the distance. The rumble and muffled screams reach his ears like a symphony  --- Haahaha! My present to Gotham. One of many, in fact. Bombs. Chaos. Hundreds and thousands worth of property damage, medical bills and funeral charges."

"Where was that?!"

He shrugs, checking his watch. 

"I don’t know. You expect me to remember where I stash all my toys?  I am 50 years old and have had more head injuries than I've had hot dinners. Many from you, I might add. But, judging from the smoke coming in the east … probably that old animal shelter that my lil' Shnookums and her rebound gal pal own. Well, owned. Hahaha. And if it was, I hope the local kiddies have packed their umbrellas, because it will be raining cats and do--"

"Shut up!" 

"Hahaha! Aww. I’m sorry, Bats. I'm sorry. That was tasteless. So very tasteless of me. I’ll try another. An old favourite from my little black book. Hu-hmm... A Robin walked into a crowbar and said, "Please, Joker, don't kill my mommy." And the crowbar said, "Swing! AHHH-HAHAH! Oooh, I kill myself sometimes, I really do. Speaking of which... Back to my birthday wish. A permanent death for either you or me; I know who my money's on, but I don't care either way. It's no skin off my face. So what do you say, Bats? One final round? And who knows? Maybe it’ll be you. Maybe it’ll be me, but one of us is going to kick the proverbial bucket. And it will be … glorious."

The Joker threw his arms wide and twirled around on the spot, waiting for him to strike. 

Batman just stared him down, with complete and utter loathing. 

"I am going to take silence as your final answer. Fine by me! Sold! I will kill you!" The Joker sneered, grabbing the nearby mallet and lunging at Batman. "No takebacks, okay? Hahahah."

"I won’t kill you, Joker." 

Batman rolled out the way, sweeping Joker's legs from under him as he went. 

"No? Not even with the right motivation? You see, this isn't just about you and me, Bats. This is about all of Gotham. Because here's the kicker... I know you. Really know you. You won't kill me to save yourself. You are far too noble and brave and all that crap. But to save THEM? Well... that... that changes the game, doesn't it? So come on. Fight me. Kill me. It is the only way to save this urban cesspool. Because, if my hands are busy... I can't tap my watch." 

He taps again. 

A second explosion. This time, much closer. The ground quakes. Dust rains down on their heads from the ceiling above. 

"Not going to ask me where that one was, Batman? No? No? Okay. Fine, I'll tell you. Because that one I do know. That smouldering wreck was once a lovely little Italian in the Bowery, belonging to a Mr Maroni. I took the liberty of attaching the bomb with a gift voucher for a pair of Falcone Brogues --- I know, I know, identity fraud is a crime, but hey, you can't start a gang war without breaking a few heads."

Batman reached for more Batarangs. He slotted them between his fingers, slashing at the Joker. The serrated edges cut through dead air as the Joker hopped back. 

Tap.  

A third explosion. 

Tap. 

A fourth. 

Tap—tap—tap—tap—tap

Fifth. Sixth. Seventh. Eight. Ninth. 

"Wow. That's nine bombs for me and nothing for you. Try to keep up Ba---AHHH!" The tip of a batarang sliced through the strap of his watch. It—and droplets of blood—fell to the floor harmlessly. 

Joker tried to make a grab for it, but it was crushed under Batman's foot. For good measure, he stomped on Joker's fingers. He could hear them crack. 

"YAAA-HAHA!! You spoil sport, ruining my lovely firework display. Now I will just have to activate those bombs manually. But hey, I'll be getting in my 10,000 steps. That is, unless you make my wish come true." 

"Quiet!" 

"Make me!" The Joker elbowed him hard in the gut, winding him. He followed through with an upper-cut, knocking him to the ground. 

With his spare hand, he plunged a knife into Batman's cape, pinning him down. 

Then, straddling the Dark Knight, used a second knife to furiously cut and stab and slash the squirming hero, tearing right through his armour. His blows were surgical. Precise. Hitting every weak point, the connective plates, where the Kevlar was at its weakest. 

Every now and then, he would switch weapons. Knife. Hammer. Knife. Crowbar. Knife. Spiked rubber chicken. 

He took great delight in showing Batman each weapon before the strike, removing them from his modified tactical waistcoat with a flourish. 

Each swap was theatrical, punctuated by laughter. Manic. Hysterical. Unending laughter. 

Batman screamed, a guttural roar, as the Joker's blade pierced his abdomen. It went in deep, right down to the hilt. And then, with relish, tore it free, showering them both in blood. 

He gasped for air as the Clown pushed down hard on Batman's throat, choking him. 

"How do you like this, Bat, my world's finest choke?! It's to die for! Hahahahah-AAAAAHHH!!!!" 

The Batarangs struck through his lower jaw, skewering his tongue. 

The Joker's eyes bulged as he spat out blood, rolling off Batman. He coughed and choked, smearing gore across his throat. And then, as he looked down at his bloody hands, he grinned. 

"… G... Good show, Bats! A very …" --- he pants, crawling over to the pinned hero. He splutters and wheezes --- "good show! I … I have had such a wonderful time, these past twenty-three years. And … and I know when I am beat… … … But, you don’t look too good either. Let’s take a look."

With his last strength, The Joker drove the blade deep into Batman's stomach, right through the largest tear in his suit. 

"AHHHHH!!!"

"My mistake, merely a scratch. Call it a … p...parting gift. Something to remember me by. It won’t kill you. Well... probably not, anyway. But maybe. A dying man can dream. Hahaha. Relax, B–B–Bats. Hahaha. Or sh...should I ...s...say Bruce ... Wayne?"

"Wh..." Batman tried to protest, but the Joker shushed him with a bloody finger.

"N...now, now… Yes. I know it's you under the cowl... Haha. Don't worry. I told no one... else. Didn't want to spoil our ... fun. And t...they said, I didn't know what love is. Ha ha. G...good b...bye, B...Bats. Parting is such … … … sweet … sorrow."

And with that, the Joker went limp.

Batman groaned. He was too weak to move. Too weak to roll the grinning clown's corpse off his chest. 

"... D...Dis...tress sig...nal ... active. Pass...word. Krypton... ... ... C...Clark."

"Bruce?" In that moment, Superman's voice sounded so good. 

"C...Clark... He....."

Everything went black. 

=============================

Chapter 2

"ALFRED???!!!!!!"

The red and blue speeding bullet erupted through the waterfall.

"My God!" Alfred hobbled down the steps towards the sopping wet Superman. "Get him to the operating chamber, immediately."

Superman did not need telling twice. He carefully set Bruce down on the cold metal table.

"I will need a few medical supplies. Can you get them for me, Master Kent?"

"Of course. Just tell me what we need."

It did not take long before Alfred had everything he needed.

"I will also need you to do a complete X-ray. Look for any signs of internal bleeding, that sort of thing."

"Fractured ribs. Collapsed lung. Punctured stomach."

"Christ," Alfred muttered, pulling on his rubber gloves. "He's lucky to be alive."

"It was Joker." Superman's jaw clenched.

"I know. I saw his broadcast on the evening news. The Family are all on call, putting out fires all across the city."

"Do you need me out there, too?"

"I ... I am afraid I need you here. This is going to require a steady hand and ... ... ..."

His gloved hands trembled violently.

"Tell me what I need to do."

"Thank you, dear boy."

He wasn’t a surgeon, but Clark followed the battle medics’ instructions to the letter. Every motion was slow, deliberate — making sure Bruce stayed stable on the ventilator at each step.

When it came to the severest of injuries — a collapsed lung, a punctured stomach — they needed outside help. 

That was when Superman took off, returning moments later with Dr Leslie and Dr Jada Thompkins.

Leslie immediately took charge, gently relieving the trembling, exhausted Alfred. He refused to leave the cave, so settled for manning the Batcomputer instead, his eyes fixed on the Family's blinking trackers. 

Jada kept him updated, on the hour, every hour. Her voice was steady, calm and reassuring. But even that brought Alfred little comfort. He would have no comfort until the worst had passed. 

“He’s lost so much blood.”

“You think a transfusion, Mum?” 

“I think so.”

“We’ll need a suitable donor — and quickly. Alfred, who in the family is compatible?”

“I believe Master Drake and Miss Gordon are both a match. And Master Todd, too.”

“See if you can reach one of them. We will need to perform it as soon as possible.”

"Already done." 

One by one, the Family returned to the cave. 

First, Selina. Then Harley. Ivy. Tim. Kate. Barbara. Luke. Michael. Jean-Paul. Helena. Jason. Tiffany. Harper. Cass. Steph. Duke. Damian. 

And still they came. 

Already debriefed, a concerned Tim hurried off to speak with Leslie, leaving Alfred to check in with the others. 

Dick was the last to arrive. 

"Alfie!"

Alfred looked up from the Batcomputer, his face gaunt, drawn and exhausted. "Master Richard."

"Is he—" Dick couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't even form the words. 

"He is in good hands. He is with Drs Thompkins. How are you alright?" 

"I'm peachy. Totally peachy. How're you?"

"... Not good if truth be told. But all the better to know you are all back here safe and sound." 

Dick hugged Alfred. 

Dick and Kate helped Alfred back to his chair. 

Every now and then, he threw a glance at the medical bay, where Leslie and Jada were hard at work. 

Bruce lay pale and still on the table, chest rising and falling with mechanical precision under the ventilator. Monitors beeped steadily. IV lines snaked into his arms. Bandages covered most of his torso.

"You look exhausted," Kate said with a pained, polite smile. 

"So do you."

"Ehh, occupational hazard." 

"Yeah... I just came from the morgue. He's gone. Jim and Bullock... the Joker is gone." 

Steph laughed. A sudden, uncontrolled laugh that took everyone by surprise. 

"I...I'm sorry," She began, struggling to stop. "I just... I never thought this day would come. I'm sorry." 

"It took all my resolve to leave. I had front row seats to the bastard's cremation. And I turned it down, so I get it."

"Wish I had been there." Jason grimaced. "Would have given him one hell of a eulogy." 

"You would have had to get in line, Jay-Jay. Me and Mr J had unfinished business to discuss... Five minutes. Just five minutes, my mallet and my kazoo." 

"I... I'm sorry I got here so late, Alfie." 

"You're here now, Master Richard. Gotham is safe. And that is what matters. That is what Master Bruce would want." 

"Still... I should have been here. Should have been there. Maybe... maybe things would have turned out different." 

"We cannot change the past." 

"Wally can. Barry can. Bart can. Sorry..."

"Hmm. What company we keep. In the presence of Gods, Aliens and Wonders, here we sit with a man who can keep up with the best of them. Just... waiting for a sign that everything will..."

"Everything will be okay, Alfie. It has to be... It... It has to be. " 

"And now we wait."

"Yes. Now we wait."

With a heavy sigh, Alfred sat in a chair beside the operating table, taking Bruce's free hand in his own.

Bruce's other hand was being held by a sleeping Dick, his head resting on Jason's shoulder. Jason was listening to music. Every now and then, he would look over at Dick and roll his eyes fondly. His gaze met Alfred, and he gave him a reassuring smile. 

"He looks so peaceful." 

"For that, I am relieved. What happened back there?"

"It was a blood bath, Alfred. And The Joker. He's dead."

"Good." Alfred closed his eyes and shook his head. "I'm sorry. I should not have said that. But for what that man has done to this family, I am glad."

"I understand completely."

"How did he die?"

"It appears that Bruce, in his struggle ... He mustn't blame himself. It was self-defence. The Clown was on top of him when I found him. Surrounded by bloody weapons. And Bruce... Bruce was unable to do anything..."

"Master Bruce will blame himself, though."

"Yes."

"Does anyone else know, outside of the Family?"

"I alerted the League on my way here. Asked them to do the clean-up. Joker's body has been removed from the scene. And the building was "destroyed" by one of Joker's bombs. Fortunately, it was an abandoned construction site. There won't be any DNA linked back to Bruce."

"That's good at least."

"We also did as you said. Lantern gave the Joker's corpse to Commissioner Gordon. I still can't believe I even suggested doing that clean-up, though. I... I just panicked. And... it felt so natural in the moment. But now... It... it was hard. So very, very hard. Having to do that."

"You did right, handing the Joker over to the GCPD. The last thing anyone needs is one of his fanatics finding a way to bring him back from the dead."

"I know. It's funny. I keep thinking, asking even, if I could go back, if I could, in hindsight, do something different, would I? But... I wouldn't. I would do it all over again. Not to protect Batman from consequence, but to spare Bruce Wayne from himself. Not very super of me."

"But very man." 

"Ha. Luthor would hate hearing you say that." 

"I couldn't give any less of a care what Alexander Luthor thinks. In fact, I told him as much at one of Master Bruce's fundraisers. Miss Brown said I was, and I quote, "a bad-ass."  

Clark chuckled, softly, and for the first time all evening, Alfred allowed himself to smile.  

"Would it be alright if I stayed here tonight?" 

"You are most welcome to, Master Clark."

"Thanks... Would you like a tea, Alfred?"

"Thank you, Master Kent. Tea would be lovely."

=======================

Chapter 3

"Is it true?"

"Is what true, Alvarez?"

"Is the Joker...?"

"And how exactly did you hear that?"

"I heard it from Rojas. Who heard it from Yin and Bennett, who heard it from Allen, who--- I mean---"

"Hmph. Seems nothing is secret anymore."

"But is it true?" 

"Seems so, yes. But not a word of this gets out until we can properly confirm it. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good." 

"If it is true... thank God and good riddance."  

"Yeah, thank God."

Jim Gordon, Harvey Bullock and Nightwing stood in the dimly lit morgue, staring down with pure hatred and revulsion at the Joker's still, bloody, leering corpse. Even in death, they took no chances. All three were armed.

Dick's hand hadn't left his escrima stick since entering the room. He'd faced the Joker more times than he cared to count—as Robin, as Nightwing, hell even as Batman when he'd temporarily taken up the cowl while Bruce was away on Batman Incorporated and League business.

And every time, the Clown had walked away laughing. 

Every time, someone Dick loved had paid the price.

Babs. Duke. Jason. Gordon. Alfie. Even his family at Haly's— Jimmy, Raya. The list continues.  

"Want me to deflower him?" Nightwing asked, pointing at the Joker's lapel. 

"Better you than me. I don't want a face full of acid."

With a careful snip, Nightwing severed the tube connecting the carnation to the vial.

"There we go." 

"Knowing him, he will likely have other booby traps on him."

"Agreed."

"I say we torch the bastard's body and be done with it."

"All in good time. I just want to make sure he doesn't have anything on his skin that will release poisonous gas if burned."

"Ugh. I am not going to miss this pasty freak."

"That makes two of us."

"Three." Nightwing's voice was little more than a whisper as he crushed the carnation in a clenched fist. He stared at his feet.

"Hmm. How did he die anyway? Besides the obvious." Bullock gestured to the wounds in his jaw.

"I don't know. I got the call about an hour ago. Had to confirm it wasn't a sick hoax."

Dick had received the call like everyone else in the family —from Alfie, his voice choked and strained.

He'd been halfway across the city, finishing up with one of the Joker's bombs in the Financial District, down at the old patent office. Seemed like The Clown was targeting old haunts, for this had once been where G. Carl Francis worked, the man who Joker and Harley poisoned for not approving his patent for Joker Fish. 

He'd never been able to look at fish the same way after that. 

Anyway ... by the time he'd arrived at the scene, the warehouse had been levelled. There was no Batman. No body. Just scorch marks and the lingering smell of smoke and copper. 

As he stood in the rubble, something glinted in the sunrise. A single batarang, its wing-tip stained red. He carefully pocketed it. 

With one final sweep, he was good to go. 

"Well, whoever finally got him, I owe 'em a drink."

"Any word from the Bat?"

"Still nothing. I knew he went looking for the Joker, but he's been off comms for some time."

"Some time" was an understatement. Six hours. Six hours and thirty-nine minutes of silence to be exact. Six hours of Dick checking and rechecking his comm, calling Alfred, calling Babs, calling Selina, all while coordinating with the rest of the family as they put out fires across Gotham. 

His stomach churned with each stop, filled with that sick, familiar dread. The same dread he'd felt when Bruce didn't answer after Bane. 

After Hurt. 

After Darkseid. 

After every close call where Dick had to wonder if this was it, if this was the night Batman finally didn't come home. 

He had no idea how Alfie had managed to stand it all these years. Not just with Bruce, but with every member of the extended family. 

"Well, when you get in touch, you can tell him there is one less clown for him to deal with."

"Something tells me, he may already know."

Dick's fists clenched tighter. Yeah. Bruce probably knew. The question was: what had Joker cost him this time?

"You okay, kid?"

"Huh? Oh... yeah, I'm fine, Commish. Just been a helluvah night."

"Hopefully, the last we have to deal with him."

"Yeah, hopefully."

"He's all clean and we have all our fingers and toes. All in all, a job... done."

"Thanks for your help with this, Nightwing."

"Huh? Oh, you're welcome."

"You look tired. Go home and get some rest. Let us deal with him."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, we got this kid."

Nightwing nodded, grateful for the dismissal. 

Part of him wanted to remain behind until the Joker's body was nothing but ash and cinders. But the Family… Bruce needed him more than his own, admittedly petty and vindictive satisfaction did. 

"Thanks." He was already on the move, heading straight for the door. 

"Goodnight, Jim. Bullock." 

"Yeah. Seems for once, it actually is." 

He did not look back. 

With a heavy nod to Bullock, Jim pressed the button.

The flames roared, engulfing the Joker's entire body.

"Bullock, spread the word 'round the precinct. I have an announcement to make." 

"Many of you have heard the rumours. Well, tonight, I am here to tell you that they are true. The Joker is dead. I don't know how it happened. All I can say is, good riddance. We have lost friends. Family. Loved ones to this Clown. And with him gone, I hope... I pray that this will begin a period of healing. It will get worse before it gets better. He still has allies out there. Those who are loyal to him. And then there is all the chaos he has sown. But, I know that together, we can get through this."

=======================

Chapter 4: Epilogue

"A...Alfred?" 

"Oh, thank goodness!" 

Bruce groaned, peering blearily around the room. It took a long time for his eyes to adjust to the harsh light of the operating theatre. He was unable to clearly make out the shadowy figures sitting at his bedside: a flash of auburn hair and glasses, the signature green eyes of an Al Ghul, the stylised Kryptonian night wing with wings spread wide, and the S. The big red S. 

He felt sore and achy. A heavy weight on his legs prevented him from moving them. 

"W... what happened? A...Ace?" 

The black shape at the foot of his bed raised its head and yipped excitedly. 

"Hey, buddy. I missed you, too... Alfred?"

"I'm here, Master Bruce. We're all here." 

=======================================

"Well, Bruce, I’m not going to sugarcoat it. You are extremely lucky to be alive. Especially given the severity of your wounds." Dr Leslie Thompkins said as she looked over his chart. 

"I realise that." 

"Now my professional recommendation would be that you take an extended vacation from all your responsibilities to focus on recovery, but we both know when it comes to my recommendations, you seldom follow them to the letter."

"I---"

"You don’t," She laughed. "You’re stubborn. Just like your father. Never one to sit back when he could be out there helping others. But you need to do this, Bruce. These are injuries that few can walk away from without lasting effects: physically, emotionally, psychologically. You will need plenty of time."

"What about Gotham?"

"Gotham will be in safe hands." 

"And Batman?"

"… … … Bruce. The likelihood of you putting on the cape and cowl again is slim to none. And as of right now, it is completely out of the question." 

"… … …" 

"I am sorry, Bruce." 

"But... Gotham still needs Batman."

"And your family still needs Bruce Wayne."

"… … …" 

Leslie sighed. 

"If you are serious about wanting to get back into the field... maybe within a year. Eighteen months tops. We can review. But it would be incredibly reckless." 

"… … … Okay. Thank you, Leslie, for..."

"You’re welcome, Bruce. I am sorry. I know this isn’t the news you wanted to hear."

====================================

“The Joker’s dead?”

“Yes.”

“I…?” Bruce’s voice splintered.

Selina’s hand found his arm, firm and steady. “I know you didn’t mean to, Bruce. We all do.”

He shook his head. “But that doesn’t change the fact that he is dead— by my hand. That Batman took a life. Broke his vow. Crossed that line. Tarnished the symbol.” Bruce rose on unsteady legs and limped away. “There’s no walking away from that.”

She watched him leave sadly. 

"Bruce... Okay, Selina, so maybe I can't break through that shell of his. But I know someone who can. Time to call in the big guns." 

"Well, lucky for you, Selina," Jason stood in the doorway, "guns are my speciality." 

"Good luck, Jason. You've got this." 

“Bruce… you’ll hate to hear this, but Batman is not a symbol.” Jason’s voice was calm, as he leant on the balcony overlooking the manor grounds. “He is not a myth. Not a legend. He is a man. A caring, compassionate, flawed man who does his best in a city that’s drowning. He can’t save everyone. He will make mistakes. He will learn. That’s what makes him a hero. Isn’t that what you told me?”

"The words of a hypocrite." 

"The words of a human."

“You don’t understand, Jason. None of you understand.” Bruce laughed, a hollow, mirthless laugh. “The Joker won. Hear me? He won. He got his damned wish — he died. And Batman did it. Now every time I think of Batman’s legacy, it will be with blood on its hands. And the worst part… I’m relieved. What does that say about me?”

"That Gotham is one less dangerous homicidal clown?"

"And still the number of killers in Gotham is the same." 

"... You're right... However, I also think you are wrong. You took the life of an evil, unrepentant killer in self-defence. You saved countless lives. And yet here you are, racked with guilt — because deep down you’re not a killer, Bruce. Fundamentally, at your core, not a killer."

"I..." He pulled Jason into the tightest hug he could manage and wept.

"It's alright, Bruce. I got you. This time, I got you. " 

==============================

There was a light knock at the door. 

"Bruce?"

Bruce started, recognising the voice. 

"Diana? What… What are you doing here? Please come in."

Diana Prince smiled as she entered his bedroom, carrying a vase of flowers. She set them on his dresser, stroking Ace's head as she passed. 

"Thank you. I came to see how you are doing. I knew you would have your handful of visitors, so I didn’t want to crowd you." 

"I appreciate your visit. Can I get you a drink?"

"I will take a tea. But I can make it."

"Absolutely not, Miss Prince. You are a guest. I shall make it." Alfred rose from his chair. Diana nodded. She knew better than to argue. 

"... Well, thank you, Alfred. How are you holding up?"

"I am well enough, Miss Prince. I have had to set up certain countermeasures to ensure Master Bruce remains in bed and out of the Batcave. An ever increasingly difficult task. I have threatened to call on Clark and Lois if he refuses."

"Haha. You can also call on me, Alfred."

"You are already next on the speed dial, after Clark and Miss Kyle."

"You know I am sitting right here, right?"

"Perfectly aware, sir. Now, rest. And I will go and make that tea." 

"I will watch him." 

"Hmm," Bruce pouted as Alfred hobbled away. Diana sat down on the bed beside him. 

"So? How are you faring up?"

"I’m … fine." 

"Are you? Because it would be quite all right if you weren’t."

"Diana…  I’m scared… If I can’t be Batman, then who am I?"

"…  You can be Bruce Wayne."

"But I don’t know who that is. Not really… The public Bruce and the private Bruce are so different from one another. And that is not even mixing Batman into the mix. I just … feel so lost… Sorry. "

Bruce looked away. 

"Don’t be. I asked. And I didn’t even need to use the Lasso." 

"You know it doesn’t work on me, right?"

"Ha. So you have said, Bruce. Many times."

"Part of me wants to ask to use the Purple Ray of Healing. Or the Lazarus Pit on Themyscira. But… I know that will only hurt Alfred and the others. And I don’t want to do that. They already worry I am pushing myself too fast, too soon. I just… feel so restless. Like I can be doing more than just…"

"Have you spoken to Barbara about this?"

"No." 

"Maybe you should. After all, did she not have to come to the same realisations when she faced something similar to this?"

"I suppose. But Barbara is very busy, what with her work as Oracle and at the library. I wouldn’t want to impose---"

"Even after all this time, you still blame yourself for what happened to her, don’t you?"

"… … …" 

"She doesn’t blame you, you know." 

"I... know."

"But I appreciate it is hard not to think like that. You blame yourself for every one of the people hurt or killed by the Joker. Just as I do for the people hurt by Cale or Cheetah. Or Clark does with Luthor or Metallo. Bruce, in our line of work, we can’t save everyone. People will sadly die. That is an unfortunate part of life. One we must all come to terms with, in our own way and in our own time. But because of you, over the past two decades, countless people who might not have lived got to go home. Got to produce some art, or write a book, or help others, maybe even fall in love — bringing something beautiful into the world. And that is outside of what you do with philanthropy."

"… Can I have your help?"

"If it is in my power, then yes."

"Please… help me find Bruce Wayne."

"I thought you would never ask."