"Hey, Conner I brought you co─" Dianna's steps came to a stop when she noticed the scene before her. Everyone glanced away from Hank for a split second. Her eyes landed on the obvious wound in his chest. The mug slipped from her hands and crashed onto the floor. "What the fuck happened to you?"
Artemisia stepped away from the man, cleaning up the spill with a swish of her wrist. Only the chunks of ceramic remained. "Jason happened. Clean that up, please."
Dianna lowered into her knees, brows knitted closer. Piece by piece, she picked the broken mug. Her gaze continued to perk up, trying to check on Hank's situation. "How did it happen?"
"He called me. Said he needed help. I fell for it. Now we're here." Hank grunted as the team struggled to drag his body into the med bay.
"You went to talk to Jason by yourself?" Dawn scolded, pushing past the struggling group to prepare the stretcher.
Conner took hold of the man, guiding his body onto the stretcher, then plopping him down. Everyone halted for a moment, glaring at the teen. Hank, however, did not stop, not even through the pain. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. More interesting than other conversations. Sorry, Temi."
"I'm trying not to take it personally. I'll hold it back until we solve this." Artemisia scoffed, walking up to the med bay. She stayed a few steps back, feeling useless in the field.
The man chuckled. His muscles tensed and he drew in a sharp breath. The brave facade faltered. He leaned back on the stretcher, gritting his teeth. "Just give me a shot of whiskey and get this damn thing out."
"We can't just pull it out. There's visible blood around the insertion wound. And it's over the heart." Marge pushed through the curious circle, swabbing the wound clean. Hank blinked at her. "You'll bleed to death before I can even finish taking it off."
"Conner, take a look inside, tell us what we're dealing with," Dick ordered as his arms folded over his chest.
The boy activated his x-ray vision, squinting his eyes to behold a sight only he and Superman could witness. He seemed excited about the experience, too. A grin spread across his face. "Wow. This is pretty bitching."
"Conner!"
His grin dropped. Conner cleared his throat and inspected the device. Artemisia leaned closer, trying to read the small twitches of his forehead. "It has anti-retraction barbs that hold the device in place. Looks like it's embedded in the pectoralis major, right through the aortic arch."
"You're screwed. Just like I said," Marge commented. No one said anything. It sounded pretty bad. Hank gulped loudly.
"The engineering is incredibly nuanced. The bomb's designed to tolerate insertion, not retraction. These barbs in Hank's chest, they have sensors. If those sensors detect too much force, it'll explode." Conner had taken the time to sketch what he was seeing ( it took him five seconds to make a detailed illustration ).
"What if we remove it surgically?" Dick proposed, studying the drawing with a tight frown. The device they were dealing with was unlike anything they'd ever seen.
"Same outcome. Once activated, it's designed to kill." Conner looked away from the ground. His eyes focused on the notepad as he bent it one way, then the other.
"That fucking little shit." Hank punched himself on the leg. His rapid heartbeats alerted everyone. Marge was diving back into the wound in a blink of their eyes. Circling the woman, Dawn came to his other side and caught Hank's hand.
Conner resumed analyzing the bomb. "This whole thing is engineered to read EKG signals. The countdown isn't seconds. It's the number of heartbeats he has left."
"What countdown?" Dawn asked, her words battling to leave her mouth.
Adjusting his sight back to normal, Conner reached for the device and pulled a lid open. 17370. Hank's chest rose. 17369. 17368. His chest deflated. . . the numbers only continued to lower. "When it gets down to zero. . ."
"Jason can't actually want Hank to die, right?" Garfield straightened as he watched the digits do down. He huffed out a chuckle, his face fighting to express everything he was feeling.
Dick's phone rang, saving them from responding to Gar's question. "I have a feeling we're about to find out."
Fishing the phone from his pocket, Dick distanced himself from the team and answered the call. Not a single word was exchanged as they waited for him. Their eyes were focused on Dick and his body language. He tensed as Jason spoke, but all that stress escaped him when he spat out his words.
He hung up the phone and sighed, shoulders slumping. When he spun around, they pretended to be busy, turning to face him once his footsteps sounded close. "What'd he say?"
"He will deactivate the device if we give him a performance. Fifty thousand in gold bars are being delivered to Gotham Central. He wants us to get him some." Dick tapped his fist on the screen of the phone, keeping his opinions locked.
Dianna threw her arms in the air with a scoff. "That'll only make you look worse. I can't keep talking shit about you. People will start to actually hate you guys."
"Well, we don't have another choice, do we?" Dawn fired back. The vein in her forehead relaxed as she turned to Dick, her annoyance portrayed by the raising of a brow. "What did you tell him?"
"Fucking N-O, I hope? No way we negotiate with terrorists," Hank pressed. Dick remained quiet, his eyes wandering around the room, looking at anyone but Hank and Dawn.
"So we're just gonna call his bluff? Jason's crazy." Dawn was a strange sort of angry. It was all in the way her hands moved aggressively, her brows furrowed constantly and she dared to corner anyone. However, she never resourced to raising her voice, unlike her old partner.
Artemisia couldn't help herself from staring at the countdown. They were simply wasting valuable time by arguing. "How much time do we have left?"
"The average heart rate is forty-eight hundred per hour. . ." Marge chimed as she approached the ground. Her gaze flickered to the digits. The energy that overpowered her body vanished. Her face fell. "That's less than four hours."
Dick cracked his knuckles and sighed. "All right, get him on a beta-blocker drip. It'll slow down his heart rate and buy us some more time."
"Sure. You're the doctor," Marge mumbled as the man walked away, a pissed Dawn right on his shadow. Her determined gaze moved back to the group, catching Conner looking. "Prepare a portable IV unit. We're taking him somewhere quieter."
Her tone was firm, professional. Bossy, Dianna would have said had she not rushed out already. Kory understood the reason for the teen's escape and dragged Garfield away, too. Only Artemisia was dumb enough to stay around, though her back turned on them, avoiding making any sign of availability.
"Hey, if it makes you feel better, we've been doing this self-diagnosing thing for years now. And we're still alive." Hank reassured the nurse. It was unclear whether he was being polite, nervous, or bored.
Marge gave a short hum. "It's a miracle you are. The amount of outdated shit that's stored in the cave's infirmary is insane."
"You mean Bruce's special herbs?" Oh. There was a grin. Artemisia could recognize his gleeful tone from miles away.
The nurse scoffed. Now, that was hard to interpret. "No. I don't mind that. I'm talking withdrawn medicine. I saw Lumiracoxib and Alpidem, both known for resulting in serious liver issues. There's also Metrazol, it was taken down after they realized it caused seizures─"
"This is exactly what I wanted to hear on my deathbed. Thank you." Hank sighed, flashing a sarcastic smile to Marge.
Artemisia turned around. She peeked on the countdown. Nearly sixteen hundred beats left. Damn it. "Don't joke with that, Hank."
"There's literally no better timing. You can't say no to a dying man."
Not even ten minutes into this whole situation and he dared to pull that card. The worst part was, she couldn't do anything about it, just play along until this whole thing passed. She exhaled softly. "Let's just get you upstairs. Conner, give me a hand."
Conner took Hank's left arm, throwing it around his shoulder. Artemisia took his other side, putting all her strength in dragging him out of the bed. His weight fell on her, threatening to plummet her into the ground. Not only was she dwarfed by his height, but his body mass was too much to handle on her own. That's why Conner was helping.
With a single pull, the boy balanced the weight distributed, taking the heavier load. Artemisia barely had to put on effort. Conner could do this on his own, but he was very nice to shrug away her aid.
They guided Hank towards the emergency elevator, not far from the infirmary. Hank threw his head back and sighed. "I can walk the rest of the way."
"Walking takes energy. We can't waste more time," Artemisia explained to him. He didn't say anything, locking his jaw. She smiled to herself. First time she'd shut his mouth.
With a soft chime, the doors opened and they stepped out. The weight on Artemisia's side felt even lighter. She didn't complain. Instead, she focus on directing Conner towards Hank's new temporary room that had easier access to the cave and the rest of the house. A perfect placement for situations like these.
With minimum effort from Artemisia, they lowered him into the King-sized bed. Hank grunted, shifting around until he was comfortable. Once he was settled, Krypto decided to join him, hopping onto the bed and cuddling the man.
Conner saw his cue to leave and began stepping away, not forgetting to scratch his dog's head before leaving. Artemisia, on the other hand, stayed. It didn't feel right to walk away. Her gaze was drawn once again to his chest. 16950.
"Listen─"
"No," Hank instantly cut her off. "Don't you dare start with the pity talk. We won't go there unless we get to one hour left."
Artemisia rolled her eyes. She plopped on the foot of the bed, petting Krypto. "Good thing we won't get there. We'll solve this before then. It's just. . ." She glanced at Hank, testing her approach. "It crossed my mind that I never got to thank you."
"For what?"
"You were right." She frowned. That was strangely easy to confess. Hank copied her expression, puzzled. "You said I needed help. I got help and now I'm doing much better. Like not-accidentally-killing-anyone better."
Hank made a face of disagreement, scrunching his nose. "Maybe I was a little rough."
"But that's okay." She tapped his hand, regretted it, then continued brushing her fingers through Krypto's fur. "Everyone else was being too kind. I needed someone to slap me back into reality. So, thank you."
"No problem." He imitated her awkward actions, tapping her hand and focusing on caressing the dog. Artemisia couldn't fight the smile that grew on her face. This Hank was nice, interesting. "Being a dick comes naturally."
Artemisia slapped his arm playfully. Krypto moved away at the sudden movement, snuggling closer to Hank. "You know we love you exactly for that. Not when you're too mean, though. Before you cross that line."
"Yeah, well, not everyone." He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Don't tell Dawn I said this but I know she gets the hots when I'm nicer. Did you see the way she was looking at me? The moment I told you guys what I did, she fell for me again."
"Cause you believed Jason could change?" She sneered.
Hank gave a sure bob of his head. It only widened Artemisia's grin. "Do you?" She looked at him, lips falling into a thin line. "You don't believe he can change?"
"I don't think so. Not after this." She pointed to the bomb attached to his chest. 16820. Hank glanced at it, too. His positive energy crashed before her eyes. She shouldn't have brought it up. "You know─"
"Hey, sorry to interrupt." Dawn stepped into the room. The smile on Hank's face returned. Of course, it did. Her presence made him glow. "Marge cocktailed your dose."
Artemisia jumped out of the bed, making way for Dawn and her medical equipment. When the woman was focused on preparing the IV, she sent a knowing wink at Hank. He responded by showing his pearly whites, quickly hiding them when Dawn turned back to him.
She clapped her hands together, getting their final slice of attention. "Hey, we should hit Big Belly Burgers tomorrow. I heard it's the best in Gotham."
"Not just Gotham. They're the best anywhere."
"Okay, we'll see about that," Artemisia challenged. Dawn beamed at their interaction, stealing Hank's notice. Smirking to herself, she spun around and walked out.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Rather than listening to Jason's clear demands, Dick had opted to go behind his back. He had spoken with another psychopath: the infamous Scarecrow. Crane had paved the path to a second alternative, another surprise defense.
While Artemisia and Dick were to hunt down Red Hood, Conner would stay for the upcoming two hours locked in the Batcave, crafting a deactivator for Wayne Enterprises' murderous device ( also known as the bomb in Hank's heart ).
Although the mission claimed to be a sneak attack on Jason, Artemisia knew better. So far, the boy had predicted their every step. Who was to say he wasn't waiting for them to take this route? She would rather be safe than sorry.
She repeated those words as her suit packed more and more non-lethal weapons. Most of them blades, as Zachary had forced her to like. Though, in her hands, even the smallest and unsharpened blades could become dangerous.
"Hey, Temi, can I bother you for a second?" The knife in her hand dropped as Dawn interrupted her thoughts. She caught it with her boot, heaving it back into her grip. She looked at Dawn, allowing her to speak. "I need to keep Hank alive."
Artemisia frowned, shoving the blade into her ankle pocket. "That's what everyone wants. That's what we're doing."
"I feel like we're not exploring all of our options. I mean, I really hope you guys catch Jason and force him to stop his madness. Or that Conner finishes the deactivator in time." The woman let each of her thoughts out, bombarding Artemisia with them. She took a deep breath, glancing at her shoes. "But if none of that works, I have to get Jason what he wants."
"The gold bars?"
The blonde nodded, pushing a messy strand of hair behind her ear. "Thing is, I can't do it alone. And with you gone I don't think anyone else would take the risk. So it has to be someone who's not afraid of getting their hands dirty. Maybe your friend could help?"
"I guess it wouldn't hurt to have a fail-safe." Artemisia snatched the phone from her bag, typing in the location of the motel she barely stayed at. "I texted you the address. Tell Milo I sent you and she'll do anything you ask. Just. . . remind her how we play this game. She can get a bit murdery."
Dawn reached for a hug, then retracted her arms. Her eyes were glued on the floor as she scratched the wooden surface with her shoes.
Another pair of footsteps entered the room, heading towards the pair. Dick looked at his partner for the mission, down the set of blades waiting to be loaded, then back at her. "We need to get going."
"Don't worry, I'm done." Turning back to Dawn, she sent the woman a wink, squeezing her shoulder. "Thanks for getting me the blades. See you later."
Artemisia sighed as Dick walked past them, paying no attention to their act. Throwing the bag over her shoulder, she followed him across the mansion, heading outside. One of Bruce's cars was parked in the entrance, waiting for them. Remaining silent, they each took their sides and jumped in. Dick started the car and sped away from Wayne Manor.
Ten long minutes passed and they did not exchange a word. They had reached the industrial district, near The Narrows, where the streets seemed deserted and their surroundings hostile.
Just then, avoiding his alienating surroundings, Dick decided to strike a conversation. "What did Dawn want, back in the manor?"
"Nothing. I forgot my blades in the cave. She picked them for me." Artemisia shrugged, then folded her arms across her chest.
Dick eyed her body language. "You sure that's all?"
Damn it. He knew she was lying. He had to. Her arms fell back on her sides, altering the way he had read her.
She should tell him the truth. She should admit to having involved the League in Titans business. She didn't mind getting scolded at, not since it's the only thing Dick seemed to do. But Dawn didn't deserve that treatment. The woman only wanted to help Hank; stop feeling useless as everyone around her contributed somehow.
"Well, no. . ." He took his sight away from the road for a moment. She looked away. "She's worried sick about Hank. She needed someone to talk to. Even for a second."
"Right."
He was onto her. She'd have to hear his disappointment over their broken trust ( which had already vanished ) or maybe for attempting to trick to one of the greatest detectives in the country. To her surprise, he let it go, allowing silence to take over.
She cleared her throat, bored by the sound of her own breathing. "So where are we going?"
"Cyrus Beake's loft. Kory got us the address." Dick steered the wheel left, diving the car into a street filled with factories. Artemisia glanced at the GPS. A few more streets to go.
"How do we know they're still in contact? Cyrus only helped smuggle Jason's body. There's no reason for them to remain buddies."
Dick gulped. The grip around the wheel only got tighter. "We don't know. We gotta start somewhere. Maybe he can give us a name and we'll start from there. Track them down."
She looked at Hank's countdown. 1613 heartbeats. Only twenty minutes left. Five until they arrived at Cyrus's loft. "Do we even have time to do all that?"
"We'll make time." His foot depressed onto the gas, accelerating the vehicle. But his efforts only gained them two minutes. Stuff in life that couldn't be controlled.
They came to a halt by the building's entrance. Three stories tall. Cyrus rented on the last floor. This would eat up a lot of their time─
A body thudded onto the windshield. The glass cracked before their eyes. The hood had dented under the weight. Blood splashed over the car. "Oh, shit!"
Artemisia jumped out of the car with a yelp. Her back slammed against the closest wall. With wide eyes, she stared at the fallen corpse. Her hands were cold, sweating, and trembling. Out of all the things she imagined happening, this certainly did not come up in her mind.
Dick didn't bat an eye as he circled the body. His phone rang. He picked up without a second thought. His face turned from shocked to annoyed, nostrils flaring at the voice in his ear. "Show me your face, we end this now."
Feeling her warmth return, Artemisia dried her hands on her pants as she walked up to the body. Hand and feet taped up. Major cuts around the face, neck, and chest. A duct tape covered his mouth. It was all recent.
"Jason sent me his location. It's a six-minute ride." Dick announced, his face brightening at the idea of catching the teen. She could not share his emotions, an acid taste hanging in her throat. What would they do when they caught him? "Let's go."
Dick shoved the body out of the car. He began moving for his door. Artemisia seized his arm. They stared at one another for a few blinks. What the hell was she doing? Who was she protecting? Herself or Jason?
"We should check out the building, see if there's anything that can help us. Not just now, but in the future."
He snatched back his arm, opening the door. "We know where Jason is. Let's just go."
Artemisia stood her ground. She didn't want to face him. She knew he was far too gone, stretching Hank's and everyone's misery so far. Things would result in face-to-face combat. Only the strongest would come out alive. She feared having to end him.
"He gave up his location too easily. There might be something up there he doesn't want us to see!"
He peeked at his clock. She imitated his actions. Fuck! "We have ten minutes. Make your choice. Come or stay."
Fuck this. Fuck the world. Fuck time. Fuck Jason. All Hank had tried to do was help the boy. He did not deserve to die for his growing caring nature. She was going to do anything to see that part of him bloom. Even if that meant killing Jason Todd.
Throwing her head back, she got back into the car. Dick didn't wait for her to close the door, slamming his heel into the pedals and speeding away. The tires screeched with every violent maneuver. They couldn't afford to care.
Eight minutes until Hank ran out of heartbeats.
Dick had asked her to call the Batcave. She obeyed, pressing the phone in her ear, waiting for someone to answer. It rang twice before being picked up. In a flash, the call was on speaker. "Gar, give me some good news."
"Conner's getting close."
"How close?" Dick asked, his eyes on the cars ahead. At the speed they were going, the minuscule loss of focus could get them killed.
"Under six percent failure rate," Dianna responded instead of Garfield.
Not good enough. There was no assurance Conner would finish in time, or that Dick and Artemisia would catch Jason before the countdown reached zero. Stay positive. Maybe Dawn had gone for the gold bars. That ought to even their odds.
"All right, call as soon as he gets it." She hung up. Her fingers flew towards her mouth, pulling on the thin line of grown nails. There were still three minutes left to reach their destination. Sitting in the car was fucking frustrating. Unhelpful. She craved running around, doing something. Anything. But she was stuck here, belted in place.
Dick straightened his posture, drumming the steering wheel. "Should I call him?"
"Who? Jason?"
"Hank." He remained wordless for some instants. His brows furrowed as he searched for the precise words to explain himself. She kept quiet, allowing him to venture through his emotions. His friend was facing death, it was unhealthy to remain this calm. "Just to see how's he doing."
She couldn't help but scoff. "That's it? He's six fucking minutes away from dying and you're gonna ask him how he's doing? The man was already a wreck three hours ago! He's not doing fucking good."
"It's. . . I don't wanna say goodbye." Dick's gaze fell for a second. His eyebrows renounced their usual frown, expressing sadness instead.
She reached out, stroking his arm. "Then don't. We'll see him again. Cheer him up with some memory, slip in how much you care. Maybe even say it. He's been your friend for years. You've been through ups and downs. The least you owe him is some appreciation."
A pause. A glance at her caring hand. Then, he nodded. "Okay. Call Hank."
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Dianna wasn't sure why she walked towards the room. Everyone else had done so. She felt obliged to. The five-minute countdown also pushed her to do so. She hadn't planned what to say. Something nice. Something to cheer him up. Treat him as if nothing were going on? Bad idea.
Her fist drummed against the door frame. She hadn't seen the phone in his hand until it was too late. Catching sight of her, he quickly ended the call. A smirk began to grow on his face. "Brought me anything to eat?"
She raised her empty hands. "Sorry. Couldn't think of food. I can get you something─"
"It's okay. Krypto made me some hot dogs earlier." The dog's ears perked up at the mention of his name. Hank playfully slapped his torso.
Dianna pursed her lips. That didn't sound right. More like near-stroke weird. "You sure that's what you meant?" Hank stared at her and grinned, his petting not stopping. "Holy shit. Were they good?"
"Exactly what you'd think lasered hot dogs would taste like. It's the sorta thing that you don't know you need until you have it." His words did not tempt her to taste those Krypto-baked hot dogs. Still, she mirrored his excited smile. "Plus, it's the perfect last meal."
"Woah. That got dark." She shook her head, not pushing the matter when he glanced away. "You seriously picked that as your potential last meal?"
"Fuck yeah. I got the opportunity to choose, I'm going down gloriously." He threw his arms behind his head, resting comfortably against the tower of pillows behind him. "What would you have chosen if given the chance?"
She shrugged. What sort of question was that? She had never thought of any other detail from that day. Breakfast, an episode of The Office, a short argument with Marge over stupid clothes. . . then lunch. "My last meal was fucking McDonald's. I hate their food. I wanted Taco Bell but it was closed. I'd choose anything else over a Big Mac."
Hank gave an airy chuckle. His breath trembled. The grin painted across his face began to weather. "You remember most of the accident?"
"It wasn't an accident." It was planned. The Joker intended to kill every single soul on the train. Fucker deserved to fucking die. He'd scarred hundreds of people with his sick joke. "But. . . yes. I remember. Unfortunately."
His eyes widened.
Insensitive asshole! That's not what you tell someone waiting for Death's sour kiss. She had to keep him in a positive mindset. Maybe she was the wrong person to do this but no one else was around. "The dying part isn't as terrible as people imagine. I don't remember any sort of pain. The bad part was being stuck in a loop, watching myself fail over and over again, not being able to change anything."
"Well, if I'm lucky, I won't be stuck in a loop. No supernatural force will bring me back."
Dianna rolled her eyes. "If you're lucky, you won't die. And you are, lucky. So all this worrying about death is for nothing. Everything's gonna be fine."
"Countdown's getting pretty fucking close to zero. I think I'm allowed to worry."
Two hundred and forty-three─ forty-two─ forty-one. She looked away. Her gaze glued to his chest was making him nervous. She wasn't being helpful anymore. "Alright. I'll leave you and your worries alone. I'll see if Conner needs help."
She began stepping back, darting her eyes around the room, avoiding the decreasing numbers. She had spun on her heel when Hank spoke again. "Thank you for the talk."
"No problem. I think needed it, too." Dianna smiled over her shoulder before marching away.
The smile began to fade as she glanced at the timer. Less than two minutes. No words from Conner or Dick. Not even Dawn had reported anything. They weren't getting anywhere and she lied to Hank's face, telling him fake promises.
Her shoulder shoved against the Batcave's entrance, forcing her way inside. Never in her months living in Wayne Manor had she given two fucks about the narrow stairs, but today she skipped past them without a care. She somehow reached the bottom intact, no slips.
Gar made eye contact with her across the room. His nervous expression was surely a mirroring of her own; furrowed brows and teary eyes. Their gazes then moved to Conner. His responsibility was greater than theirs combined. He had been trying over and over to create a deactivator for the bomb. For two hours straight.
His hands moved at impossible speed. He fixed the device, tested it, huffed when it failed, then rewire it again. His frustration began growing as their watches beeped in warning.
One minute left.
Fuck.
Dianna found herself a seat, every dark feeling weighing her down. She shoved her trembling hands under her thighs, keeping them out of Conner's sight. Her accelerated heartbeat was enough of a distraction. Good thing he couldn't also read their minds.
He wouldn't make it. Why hadn't they heard anything about Dick or Temi? And where the fuck was Dawn? Why did she lie to Hank? Things weren't going to be okay. His time would run out. He would─
"Gar, talk to me." Dick's voice interrupted her thoughts. She jumped up, joining Garfield by the desk.
"He's almost got it."
Dianna glanced at the screen. "Three percent failure rate─ two percent."
Conner grunted at yet another fail. He didn't stop, though, resuming his work on the device. His hands moved even faster, but sloppier. He glanced at the timer, letting out a shaky breath.
Thirty seconds.
Garfield opened the mic in Hank's room, taking a deep breath before speaking to the man. Krypto still laid by his side, cuddling him. "Hank, hang on."
"I don't know, buddy." His hand had dropped from Krypto's fur, gripping the sheets by his side.
The computer beeped again. Conner sighed. One percent failure rate. Fifteen seconds. He changed around some wires. Ten seconds. The next time he connected the device in, it chimed.
Zero percent failure rate. He turned to them with wide eyes. Dianna reacted first, grabbing his bicep and propelling him towards the exit. "Go, go!"
In a blink, Conner left the room.
He could get to Hank in five seconds. She turned back to the computer. Her gaze shifted between the cameras and the countdown.
Seven.
Conner reached the top of the stairs.
Six.
He dashed across the hallway.
Five.
He was meters away from the room. . .
Zero.
The ground trembled above them. . . Her feet banged on the window. . . Dust rained around her. The lights flickered. . . Her mother toppled on the ground. . . The cameras went offline. Dark. . . Red. . . White. . .
Dianna stared at the countdown. It was red. Zero. That was impossible. This shouldn't have happened. Conner had the neutralizer ready. He was supposed to make it. They had time to spare.
Something touched her arm. She snapped around. Green hair─ Joker. She blinked. Gar. His face, those teary eyes, a pout he couldn't control, head dropped. An exact copy of that night when they found out Jason had died.
No. No-no. No.
She shoved him away. Her legs were moving before she could process it. She stumbled upstairs, tracing Conner's path. It felt impossible to breathe. A heavy rock sat in her chest. She felt like throwing up, like passing out. Like everything and nothing, all at once.
Slamming the Batcave's door open, she scrambled out of the claustrophobic confinement. Smoke filled the Manor. She followed the trail. With each step, her surroundings grew darker. A rotten smell tickled her nose. The ball in her chest continued to grow as she moved closer to the room.
Through the heavy haze, she saw Conner's frozen silhouette. She sprinted towards him, seizing his arms. The room before them was a cloud of disaster. Fire attacked the furniture, the drapes, the carpets. A whine came from among the smog. Krypto stepped through the flames, dirtied with ash and blood.
The bubble finally popped. It exploded with a cry, with the worst pain imaginable. It burned her insides, it crumbled her mind and her spirit. She couldn't muster the strength to remain standing. Conner accompanied her fall, embracing her. She clung to his arms as if her life depended on them. The only thing that felt real.
She couldn't believe it. . . Hank was dead.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
( me when I had to rewatch ep 3 to write this )
Now I'm off to write their trauma✌