Bane was dead. And I could feel it in my bones: Batman was staring at me like he wanted to vaporize me a million times over, each glare a meticulous, moralized execution. The cave was silent, save for the hum of machinery and the occasional drip of water echoing against stone, yet in that silence, his judgment weighed heavier than a dozen of Mammoth's punches.
Well… I couldn't help it. Totally slipped my mind. The Baygon—yeah, the chemical spray in Bane's system—I'd only wiped the foam from his mouth. Nothing else. The rest of the team hadn't voiced it either; they'd all assumed the threat was contained. And, as it turned out, it wasn't. The residue was still in his system, coursing through him, a ticking chemical time bomb that had finished the job before anyone realized it.
Well, shit. At least he didn't know I'd killed a cultist.
"And the cultist… the one you stabbed in the neck and twisted his head," Batman said, closing his eyes and drawing in a deep breath that could have cut steel. "You think I wouldn't notice?"
Fuck me. Seriously. My heart thumped a little faster, a rare pang of guilt crawling in from the edges of my carefully constructed indifference. Diana would be pissed. She'd probably want to stick me in a solitary room, or worse, lecture me until I actually felt something about the lives I took—because, obviously, she still clung to the quaint fantasy that killing wasn't… fun. Or efficient. Or a tool.
I rubbed the back of my neck, letting my skull mask hang loose in my hand. A shrug, a little smirk, something between "oops" and "what can you do?" escaped me. "Well… I guess technically it's my bad. But," I added quickly, "this was a black ops mission. Rules were loose. Killing wasn't just permitted—it was encouraged. If Bane and the cultists survived… none of this intel would exist, and half of the world would probably be dead by now."
Batman's eyes snapped open, sharper than any blade I'd ever wielded. "Encouraged? You call murder encouraged?"
I held his glare, unflinching, letting the mask of indifference slip just a little. "Call it what you want, Batman. I call it efficiency. Necessary collateral."
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Necessary collateral doesn't mean you get to ignore protocols. You didn't even neutralize the chemicals properly. Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?"
"Do you have any idea how dangerous Bane is if he's alive?" I snapped back, raising a brow. "You know as well as I do every villain has a contingency plan. An escape route. And they always come back, Joker, Freeze, Ivy, the whole damn rogues' gallery. Round and round it goes, and innocent people get crushed in the cycle. I broke the cycle. You're welcome."
Batman's glare hardened into something colder than steel.
"I managed to keep Sportsmaster alive," I added, a bitter little smile tugging at my lips.
"By cutting off his legs," Batman said flatly, "summoning a swarm of insects to tear him apart, and leaving him in wounds that would have killed him if not for League medics?"
"I immobilized him," I corrected sharply, stepping forward. "Permanently. Took away his freedom. Disabled him so thoroughly that not even his precious network of allies can break him out now. You call that excessive. I call that justice. He'll live—just long enough to reflect on every rotten decision he's ever made. And maybe he'll choke on the regret."
Batman, fists clenched tight. I pushed on, unable to stop the words from spilling.
"If Wonder Woman hadn't met me—if she hadn't taken me into the League—I would've killed so many corrupt, vile bastards across the continent that mothers could finally breathe easier at night. Politicians who sell children. Warlords who torch villages. CEOs who poison rivers. You want to talk morality? Killing them would've given people a chance. A breather from the rot choking them. But instead, here I am, leashed. And you still glare at me like I'm the problem."
The silence that followed was suffocating. My words echoed in the cave, bouncing between cold stone walls like knives thrown in a dark room.
Then Batman moved. His hand shot out, fast as a viper's strike. Reflex won over restraint; my mark pulsed, and I [Blink]ed backward, shadow collapsing around me.
"Yeah," I said, already turning toward the Zeta-Tube. "I don't care about you anyway. Goodbye."
I vanished in another [Blink], reappearing at the glowing circle of light.
[Attano – B07]
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Metropolis. The city lights were merciless, neon and halogen reflecting off rain-slick streets. I walked them with my hands in my coat pockets, mask tucked away. Dante, not Attano. My civilian self. A name softer, but one that only a handful in the League knew.
The stomach growl reminded me I hadn't eaten since the mission. I ducked into a corner shop, ready to blow Diana's allowance card on cheap food, maybe something fried and greasy enough to silence the gnawing edge inside me.
"Dante."
The voice froze me in place.
I turned. Familiar blonde hair, the kind of smile that could pass for casual if it weren't so sharp.
"Dinah," I said, blinking in surprise. "Didn't expect to see you here."
"Guess I'm full of surprises," Black Canary said, stepping closer. The city lights reflected in her eyes, softer than Batman's glare but just as penetrating. "So, how are you, Dante? I heard you had… a disagreement with you-know-who."
I snorted, shaking my head. "News travels fast."
"Wally fumes loudly. The cave echoes," she said dryly. Then her tone softened, teasing just a little. "Come on. You look like hell. Let me buy you dinner."
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The restaurant was a small, family-owned place tucked between two high-rises. Warm lighting, worn leather booths, the faint clatter of dishes—it was the kind of spot that smelled like comfort food and second chances.
Dinah ordered like she'd been here before, casual and confident. Burgers, fries, coffee. Nothing fancy, nothing that screamed "Justice League expense account." She paid without hesitation, sliding the receipt away before I could even reach for my card.
I raised an eyebrow. "Didn't peg you as the type to treat assassins to greasy food."
"You're not an assassin," she said firmly, resting her chin on her hand as she studied me. "You're a kid who doesn't know what to do with the weight in his hands."
"Cool, cool." I clasped my hands together like I was praying to some benevolent god and bowed over the table. "So, can you make BM stop pestering me? As a favor. Pretty please."
Dinah arched an eyebrow.
I leaned into it, dropping my voice into theatrical desperation. "C'mon, D. Spare a poor, misunderstood soul from the wrath of Gotham's angriest man. He's like a mosquito, but with a cowl. Constant buzzing in my ear."
Her lips twitched, amusement tugging at the corner of her mouth, but she didn't bite right away. Instead, she took a long sip of her coffee, eyes never leaving mine. When she finally spoke, her voice was softer than I expected. "You know I can't do that, Dante. He doesn't pester for fun. He pushes because he sees danger—sometimes in others, sometimes in… us."
I stabbed a fry into the ketchup like it was a dagger through someone's skull. "Yeah, well, danger's kind of my whole aesthetic. He should be used to it by now."
Dinah shook her head, blonde hair catching the warm restaurant light. "No. What he sees in you isn't danger to others—it's danger to yourself. You treat killing like it's second nature. Like it's casual. You joke, you shrug, but I can see it. Part of you carries it heavier than you admit."
I swallowed hard, forcing the smirk back onto my face. "Don't psychoanalyze me over fries, D. That's cruel and unusual punishment."
Her smile softened. "Then let me do it properly. Therapy session. Back at the Cave."
I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. "Nope. Not happening. I am not stepping back into that cave just to sit across from BM while he judges me with those dead shark eyes."
Dinah tilted her head, studying me like a puzzle piece that refused to fit. "It doesn't have to be with him. It can be with me. Or even as a group, with the younger ones. You're not the only one carrying weight, Dante. And you're certainly not the only one who hates being under Batman's thumb."
I muttered into my burger, "He's still annoying as hell."
She chuckled, a low, knowing sound. "That he is. But you don't get better by running from the things that annoy you. You get better by facing them. Or at least by having someone in your corner while you do."
I glanced up at her, chewing slower this time. Dinah wasn't like Batman. She didn't glare, didn't press, didn't make me feel like I was on trial. She just… sat there. Patient. Unmoved. Steady.
And that was kind of heartwarming.
I leaned back in the booth, arms crossed. "Fine. Maybe I'll think about it. But if Angry-Man so much as breathes in my direction, I'm teleporting to Fiji and never coming back."
Dinah smirked, raising her coffee cup in a mock toast. "Deal. But for the record? If you ran to Fiji, He would still find you."
"See?" I shot back, grinning despite myself. "Annoying."
She laughed then, shaking her head. "Eat your burger, Dante. Soon, I start training the young ones. You can join if you want. Might help burn off some of that restless energy you're drowning in."
I took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. Training with Dinah sounded… tolerable. At least better than sitting in Batman's shadow.
"Yeah," I said finally, mouth half-full. "I'll think about it. But don't expect me to hold back."
"Good," Dinah said with a spark in her eye. "I'd be insulted if you did."