The soft blue glow of the Batcomputer cast long shadows across the cave's jagged walls.
The constant drip of water from stalactites, providing a sound Bruce has been used to for years, to the point it now brought him comfort in its familiarity.
His cowl sat beside the keyboard, eyes unmasked but still clad in the graphite-colored Batsuit as his fingers moved methodically across holographic displays.
"Contingency 37-B requires updating," Bruce muttered to himself, scanning the file before him.
The plan - designed to neutralize a rogue Martian Manhunter - needed refinement after J'onn had demonstrated new abilities during their last League mission.
Bruce's eyes narrowed as he made precise adjustments to the protocol. Always prepare. Always adapt. The mantra that had kept him alive through countless nights in Gotham's shadows.
His fingers paused over the keyboard. Something felt... wrong. A heaviness descended upon him, starting at his temples and spreading through his body like a fast-acting toxin.
Bruce's training immediately kicked in as he attempted to catalog his symptoms.
Blurred vision. Muscle weakness. Cognitive disruption. His mind raced through possibilities - fear toxin variant, Ivy's latest pollen, psychic attack - but nothing matched the pattern.
He pushed away from the console, attempting to stand. His legs buckled beneath him.
"Al...fred..." The name caught in his throat, vocal cords refusing to cooperate as if paralyzed.
His hand reached for the emergency alert button, falling short as darkness encroached on his vision.
Bruce Wayne, the Batman, collapsed to the cold stone floor of the Batcave.
And then-
Light. Memories. Another life.
Images flooded his consciousness. A modest apartment. School Textbooks. Parents - alive, ordinary, loving. A normal existence. Twenty years of memories from a life he'd never lived yet somehow had.
Comic books spread across a bedroom floor. Animated shows playing on a television. Movies in a darkened room on a laptop.
Stories of a fictional hero dressed as a bat.
Tales of a Justice League.
Adventures of metahumans and aliens that didn't exist - except they did. He knew they did because he was living among them now.
A rainy night. Headlights approaching too fast. Screeching tires. Impact. Darkness.
Bruce gasped, eyes snapping open. He lay sprawled on the cave floor, the Batcomputer still humming above him.
Slowly, he pulled himself back into the chair, his mind reeling from the forgein memories.
Not foreign - his mind instinctively corrected.
His.
From before.
He leaned back, gaze fixed on the distant ceiling where bats clustered in the darkness. His breathing steadied as he began processing everything.
Reincarnation. Multiversal transfer of consciousness. Twenty years of memories from another reality where his current existence had been nothing but fiction - comic books, animated series, films.
"Impossible," he whispered, but the detective in him knew better. He'd encountered too many inexplicable phenomena to dismiss this outright.
The memories felt authentic, integrated seamlessly alongside his experiences as Bruce Wayne.
More troubling were the theological implications.
Heaven and Hell - not as he'd understood them through before, but something more... personal. More terrifying.
Guilt. The cornerstone of damnation according to these memories. Not sin, not evil deeds, but the weight of guilt that dragged souls down.
Bruce's hands tightened on the armrests.
If this was true, what did it mean for those he'd lost? His parents, gunned down in Crime Alley - had they felt guilty in their final moments?
For what? For taking that shortcut? For exposing their son to danger?
And what about Jason? Beaten by the Joker, waiting for a rescue that never came. Had he died blaming himself for his capture?
"No," Bruce growled, the sound echoing in the empty cave.
His mind turned to Barbara, paralyzed by the Joker's bullet. To Dick, carrying the weight of failed rescues. To Tim, burdened by impossible standards. All of them - his family - carrying guilt like armor.
And the criminals? The Joker, Zsasz, Cobblepot - did they feel remorse? Or would their sociopathic lack of guilt grant them paradise while good people suffered?
The injustice of it burned in his chest. If this system was real, it was fundamentally broken. And if Bruce Wayne had built a career on anything, it was fixing broken systems.
"I'll find a way," he vowed to the darkness. "I'll get them out."
The Batcomputer chimed, pulling him from his spiral.
An alert flashed across the screen: ARKHAM SECURITY BREACH - INMATE CRANE, JONATHAN (SCARECROW) - ESCAPED APPROXIMATELY 3 HOURS AGO.
Bruce's jaw tightened. Scarecrow. Fear toxin. Hallucinations.
For a moment, he wondered if his "memories" were nothing more than Crane's latest chemical cocktail.
But no - this felt different. More integrated. More real.
He knew instincitively that they were true - and he's never doubted his own instincts.
He reached for his cowl, pulling it over his face.
Whatever metaphysical crisis he was experiencing would have to wait.
Gotham needed Batman.
As he stood, something else registered.
A sensation he'd never experienced before - an awareness that extended beyond his normal senses.
The cave felt... alive. Not just with bats and the hum of equipment, but with something more...
Energy flowing through everything, connecting it all.
He could sense Alfred upstairs in the manor kitchen, feel the bats clustering in the ceiling without looking up, perceive the subtle vibrations of the waterfall concealing the cave's entrance.
The Force. his mind whispered to him, inherent knowledge apparently having come with his memories, from whatever made him remember.
He knew not how he had it, but he knew he did, and his memories allowed him to intellectually recognize it.
The energy field from those space fantasy films, that are now somehow real and accessible to him.
Batman stood motionless, absorbing this new... perception. Another tool. Another advantage. Another responsibility.
The Batmobile's engine roared to life with a thought rather than a remote trigger, surprising him- having for a moment tried it.
He would need to explore these abilities, understand their limits and applications. But methodically. Controlled. Not now.
Now, Gotham needed its Dark Knight.
"I'll deal with this later," Batman growled, striding away from the vehicle, having turned it on simply as a test. "Crane first."
The questions, the realisations, the newfound power - all filed away for later examination.
But still beneath the cowl, in a corner of his mind he couldn't fully suppress, Bruce Wayne wondered: if guilt was the currency of damnation, how much had he already paid? And how much more would it cost to save those he loved?
----------------------
Alfred Pennyworth arranged the silver tea service.
The porcelain cups - Wedgwood, from the east wing cabinet - sat perfectly aligned on the tray alongside a small plate of cucumber sandwiches.
"Master Bruce has been in the cave for fourteen hours," he murmured to himself, glancing at the grandfather clock. "Hardly conducive to optimal performance."
The butler straightened his impeccable tie before lifting the tray. Bruce's nocturnal habits had long since ceased to surprise him, but even Batman required sustenance and rest - facts his employer- no son, he raised that boy - routinely ignored.
As Alfred approached the study, he heard the distinctive sound of the grandfather clock sliding shut. He paused, observing as Bruce emerged, cowl removed but still in the Batsuit.
"Ah, fortuitous timing, sir. I was just bringing you-" Alfred stopped, his trained eye catching something different in Bruce's demeanor. "Is everything quite all right, Master Bruce?"
Bruce looked at Alfred with an intensity that gave the butler pause. There was recognition there, but something else - as if Bruce were seeing him for the first time.
"I'm fine, Alfred." Bruce's voice carried its usual gravelly tone, but with an undercurrent Alfred couldn't quite place. "Scarecrow's escaped. I need to find him before he deploys whatever he's been developing in Arkham."
"Indeed, sir. Shall I prepare the usual antitoxin supplements for your utility belt?" Alfred placed the tea tray on the desk, noting how Bruce's gaze followed his movements with unusual focus.
"Yes. And add the new compound from Lucius. The one designed for aerosol delivery."
"Very good, sir." Alfred poured tea into one of the cups. "Perhaps a moment of refreshment before you embark? You've been rather occupied with those contingency plans all day."
Bruce accepted the cup, his fingers brushing against Alfred's briefly. A strange expression crossed his face - something between wonder and sadness.
"Thank you, Alfred." The words carried more weight than the simple courtesy warranted.
"Merely doing my duty, sir," Alfred replied, though he sensed something significant had transpired.
After decades of service to the Wayne family, he'd developed an almost preternatural ability to read Bruce's moods. Something had changed in the hours since he'd last seen him.
Bruce sipped the tea, his eyes distant. "Alfred, do you ever think about... what happens after?"
"After, sir?" Alfred raised an eyebrow. "After apprehending Dr. Crane, I presume you'll return for a more substantial meal than these modest offerings."
"No. After death."
The bluntness of the question took Alfred aback. While mortality was an ever-present shadow in their unusual household, Bruce rarely broached the subject so directly.
"I believe I shall be thoroughly occupied haunting these halls and reminding you to dust the higher shelves, sir." Alfred's dry humor masked his concern. "May I inquire as to what prompted this philosophical turn?"
Bruce set down the teacup. "Just thinking about my parents. About Jason."
Alfred's expression softened. "I see."
"Do you think they blamed themselves, Alfred? At the end?"
The butler considered the question carefully. Conversations about Thomas and Martha Wayne's deaths were rare enough; discussions about Jason Todd rarer still.
"Your parents' last thoughts, I imagine, were of you, sir. Concern, perhaps, but not guilt." Alfred's voice remained steady. "As for Master Jason... he was a soldier in a war he understood. I believe he would place the blame precisely where it belongs."
Bruce's gaze sharpened. "On me."
"On the Joker, sir." Alfred's tone brooked no argument. "Now, shall I prepare those antitoxin supplements while you finish your tea?"
Bruce seemed about to say more, then nodded. "Thank you, Alfred."
As Alfred turned to leave, Bruce spoke again. "You've always been more than a butler. You know that, right?"
Alfred paused at the doorway, surprised by the uncharacteristic sentiment. "And you have always been more than an employer, Master Bruce."
He allowed a small smile. "Though I do wish you'd be a more cooperative one when it comes to regular meal times."
The familiar banter seemed to ease something in Bruce's expression. Alfred made a mental note to check the cave's security footage later.
Something had occurred down there - something significant enough to shake even the Batman.
As he descended the stairs to the cave to prepare the requested equipment, Alfred couldn't shake the feeling that Bruce was carrying a new burden - one heavier than the cowl he'd worn for so many years.
--------------------------
Nightwing crouched on the gargoyle overlooking Robinson Park, the cool night air carrying the scent of rain and city pollution. His communicator buzzed softly.
"Nightwing." Batman's voice, as always, dispensed with pleasantries.
"Hey there, sunshine. Missing me already?" Dick's smile was audible in his voice as he watched a suspicious exchange on the street below. Probably just a drug deal, low priority compared to Scarecrow.
"Crane is loose. I'm tracking chemical purchases that match his fear toxin components. I need you to check his former assistant's apartment in Burnley."
"Dr. Kellerman? Thought he left Gotham after the last time Crane used him as a guinea pig." Nightwing stood, stretching muscles that had grown stiff during surveillance.
"He returned three months ago. Working at Gotham General."
"On my way." Nightwing fired his grapnel, swinging in a graceful arc between buildings. "Oracle looped in yet?"
A pause. Longer than Batman's usual responses.
"Bruce?"
"Not yet." Something in Batman's tone made Nightwing pause mid-transit. "I'll contact her."
"Everything okay? You sound... different."
"Fine." The curt response was pure Batman, but Dick had known him too long to be fooled.
"Right. Because 'fine' is definitely your normal state." Nightwing landed on a rooftop, continuing his journey toward Burnley. "Seriously, what's up? Crane deploy something before you found him?"
Another pause.
"We'll discuss it later. Focus on Kellerman. If Crane's coercing him again, he may be our best lead."
"Copy that, boss." Nightwing knew better than to push. Whatever was bothering Batman would come out eventually - probably at the least convenient moment possible.
"Want me to call in the replacement, or are we keeping this a family affair?"
"Tim's with the Titans. We handle this ourselves."
"Roger that. Nightwing out."
As the communication ended, Dick couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed.
Batman was always intense, always focused - but this felt different. There had been something in his voice.
Recognition, but with an added layer of... what? Concern? Knowledge?
Whatever it was, it would have to wait. One of Gotham's boogeymen was on the loose, and that took priority over Batman's even-more-brooding-than-usual mood.
Nightwing picked up his pace, the traversing of Gotham's skyline as natural to him as walking. Whatever was happening with Bruce, they'd face it together. That's what family did.
-----------------------
In the Clocktower, Barbara Gordon's fingers flew across multiple keyboards, screens surrounding her wheelchair in a semicircle of digital information.
Police reports, security camera feeds, chemical supply inventories - all streaming data that she processed and connected.
When her secure line chimed with Batman's signal, she answered without looking away from her monitors.
"Oracle."
"Barbara." The use of her first name immediately caught her attention. Batman maintained strict communication protocols in the field.
"What's wrong?" She wheeled closer to the main screen, pulling up his location. The Batmobile was heading toward the Bowery, consistent with pursuing Crane, but something was clearly off.
"Nothing's wrong. I need information on Crane's movements since his escape."
Barbara frowned, fingers already retrieving the requested data. "Sending now. But seriously, what's going on? You don't use my name during operations."
Another pause. Barbara had known Bruce long enough to read his silences. This one felt... weighted.
"I experienced something in the cave earlier. A mental event."
Barbara's hands stilled on the keyboard. "Mental event? Like Martian telepathic contact? Mind control?"
"No. More comprehensive. I'm handling it."
"That's Batman-speak for 'it's bad but I'm not telling you.'" Barbara resumed typing, pulling up additional data.
"Should I be worried about your cognitive state while pursuing Scarecrow? Because that seems like relevant operational information."
"I'm fully functional." The response came too quickly. "My judgment isn't impaired."
"Said every impaired person ever." Barbara sighed, "Fine. Keep your secrets. But I'm monitoring your vitals extra closely tonight."
"Understood." That was the reason he told her in the first place being unspoken. Always careful.
As Batman's communication ended, Barbara leaned back in her wheelchair, troubled.
Bruce was many things - stubborn, paranoid, obsessive - but he was rarely cryptic with her about mission-relevant information.
Whatever this "memory event" was, it had him rattled enough to break protocol.
She opened a secure channel to Nightwing.
"Hey, Boy Wonder. Batman just called me by my actual name during an op. On a scale of 'he's had a bad day' to 'mind-controlled by aliens,' how worried should I be?"
Dick's response was immediate. "So it's not just me noticing something's off? He was weird with me too."
"Define 'weird.'"
"Pauses. Tone shifts. Nothing concrete, just... not typical Batman."
Barbara frowned, pulling up Batman's medical telemetry from the Batsuit. Heart rate, blood pressure, brain activity - all within normal parameters for field operation.
"His vitals look normal. No evidence of toxins or foreign substances."
"Could be psychological. Scarecrow's been developing more subtle compounds."
"Maybe." Barbara wasn't convinced. "Keep an eye on him. I'll monitor from here."
"Will do. Nightwing out."
As the communication ended, Barbara turned her attention back to her screens, a sense of unease settling over her.
Something had happened to Bruce - something significant enough to alter his carefully maintained operational behavior, and even hint at her to be aware of his state.
And in their line of work, unexpected changes rarely meant anything good.
------------------------
Batman stood on the roof of the abandoned Ace Chemicals building, scanning the surrounding blocks.
His enhanced cowl lenses detected trace particles consistent with Crane's fear toxin, confirming his suspicions.
Scarecrow had returned to where his transformation began, perhaps for symbolic reasons, perhaps for practical ones.
But Batman's thoughts weren't solely on Crane.
The new awareness that had awakened in the cave persisted, an extra sense overlaying his perception of the world.
He could feel the city around him - not just see and hear it, but sense its energy, its life.
The Force.
An energy field created by all living things, surrounding and penetrating everything, binding the galaxy- the universe together.
Except this wasn't fiction anymore. It was real, and he could feel it. Something he still needed to come to terms with, it being why he's mentally going through what he knows of it again.
Batman closed his eyes behind the cowl, extending his awareness.
Gotham spread before him in his mind's eye - not just buildings and streets, but energy and emotion.
Fear concentrated in pockets throughout the city. Pain. Desperation. But also determination. Hope. Resistance.
And nearby - a familiar darkness. A mind focused on terror as a tool, a weapon. Crane.
Batman's eyes snapped open. He could sense Scarecrow's location without needing to follow the chemical trail.
Third floor. East side of the building. Working on something that radiated malevolence into the Force.
The tactical advantage was undeniable. But it raised questions Batman couldn't afford to dwell on now.
Was this power always within him, dormant until his "awakening"? Did others possess similar potential? How would this change his operations, his methods?
His communicator buzzed. "Batman, I've got something," Oracle's voice came through.
"Chemical analysis of recent purchases matching Crane's formula components shows he's developing a new delivery system. Airborne, with extended persistence in the environment."
"Understood." Batman moved toward the roof access door. "I've located him at Ace Chemicals. East wing, third floor."
A brief pause. "How? My satellite thermal imaging still shows the building as empty."
Batman hesitated. "Residual toxin traces outside the ventilation system."
Not a lie, but not the full truth. He wasn't ready to explain abilities he barely understood himself.
"Nightwing's five minutes out from Kellerman's apartment. Want me to redirect him to your location?"
"No. We need to cover both angles. I can handle Crane."
"Your call. But be careful. If he's got a new toxin..."
"I'm prepared. Batman out."
As he silently descended through the building, Batman extended his newfound senses, tracking Crane's presence.
The scientist was agitated, focused, his emotions a mix of anticipation and obsessision with what he was doing.
Batman paused outside the laboratory door, listening. Glass clinked against metal. A soft hissing sound - gas under pressure. Crane was talking to himself, his voice a raspy monologue.
"Gotham will understand true fear tonight. Not just hallucinations - but revelation. The fear that lives in their own hearts, made manifest..."
Batman assessed his options. Direct confrontation risked exposure to whatever compound Crane was developing.
Stealth approach from above, through the ventilation system? No - too likely to disturb the airborne particles.
Then he felt it - the weight of the door in the Force. Its hinges, its lock mechanism. He could sense how it would move, how it would respond.
Without touching it, Batman exerted his will through this new power. The door latch silently disengaged. The door eased open without a sound.
Scarecrow stood with his back to the entrance, hunched over a complex apparatus of tubes and pressurized tanks.
His ragged burlap mask lay on the workbench beside him as he made final adjustments to what appeared to be a dispersal device.
Batman stepped into the room, silent as a shadow. "It's over, Crane."
The criminal spun around, eyes wide with surprise before narrowing. "Batman. Always right on cue." He reached for his mask. "But you're too late. My new compound is ready for Gotham's consumption."
"No one's consuming anything." Batman moved forward.
Crane laughed, a dry sound like dead leaves rustling. "You don't understand what I've created. This isn't just another hallucinogen. This toxin reveals the fears you've buried so deep you don't even know they exist."
He pulled the mask over his face, becoming Scarecrow fully. "The fears that will follow you into eternity."
The words struck Batman for a moment with unexpected force.
Eternity. Hell. Guilt. His newfound knowledge of what waited beyond death made Crane's threat hitting closer to mark than the doctor could possibly know.
"Enough." Batman lunged forward, but something shifted. Time seemed to slow as his new senses detected the trap before it activated.
A hidden nozzle, concealed in Crane's workbench, preparing to release what it stored inside of it.
Batman twisted mid-lunge. The fine mist of fear toxin sprayed harmlessly past him, dissipating into the air where he had stood a fraction of a second earlier.
Scarecrow's eyes widened behind his mask. "Impossible! How did you-"
Batman didn't give him time to finish.
Three strikes - one to the solar plexus, one to the nerve cluster in the shoulder, one to the back of the knee - and Crane collapsed.
"Your tactics are predictable," Batman growled, securing the villain's wrists restraints.
"No!" Crane struggled weakly against the restraints. "You couldn't have anticipated that! The nozzle was perfectly concealed!"
Batman pulled Scarecrow to his feet, bringing the burlap face close to his cowl. "I see more than you think."
"How did you do it?" Crane's asked angrily. "What even are you?"
Batman's eyes narrowed behind the cowl. "Your worst fear."
As he secured the struggling villain to a support beam, Batman's went through what happened.
He had sensed the trap before it activated, perceived the danger in a way that transcended his normal abilities.
The Force had warned him, guided his movements in a way that felt both foreign and natural.
What else could he do? What were the limits of this power?
And more importantly - how would he use it to fulfill the vow he'd made in the cave? To save his family, his parents, from a Hell they didn't deserve?
Batman activated his communicator. "Oracle. Crane is secured. Notify GCPD for pickup."
"Roger that. Toxin contained?"
Batman looked at the dispersal device, sensing no active danger from it now. "Yes. Situation under control."
As under control as it could be, for the game had changed.
And Batman would adapt, as he always did.
Whatever it took.
------------------------
(Author note: Hello everyone! I hope you all enjoyed the first chapter!
I just wish to note - this Batman, never slept with Barbara, so his relationship with Dick didn't sour as it did in the Killing Joke. It being an affect of his buried memories.
This is an AU!
Keep that in mind when reading.
I hope to see you all later,
Bye!)