A couple of months later...

January 2028

Wayne Manor, Westchester County

Things had been... bad. Awful, really.

The kind of bad where silence stretched on for days, where the rooms of the Manor felt colder, emptier, like even the walls carried grief.

Ever since Jason's passing, Y/N buried himself in the cowl. Batman was no longer a mission... it was an obsession. He stalked the streets of New York with a vengeance sharper than ever before, dispensing justice with fists and fury. Criminals whispered about him in hushed tones, terrified not just of the Bat, but of the broken man behind the mask. He hit harder now. Stayed out longer. Left less standing in his wake.

At home, though... there was nothing left.

Kate tried. God, she tried. She held her ground even when the anger in her chest wanted to scream at him, to blame him for Jason's death. A part of her did blame him, and he knew it. But she loved him too much to abandon him. 

She stayed, even if the distance between them felt like miles within the same house. Their wedding plans had been shelved, not because they didn't love each other, but because neither of them could pretend they were ready for vows when the family they already had had been torn apart.

Some nights, she'd sit in their bedroom with the lamp on, waiting for him to come back from patrol. Most nights, he never came in until dawn, bruised and exhausted, slipping into bed without a word. She'd pretend to be asleep, but her hand always found his under the covers, if only to remind him she was still there.

Alfred carried it with quiet dignity, though the grief weighed on him just as much. He looked older, somehow, in just those few months. Losing Jason had cut him deeper than he'd ever admit aloud. And seeing Y/N spiral into something more violent and self-destructive hurt him even more. But he stayed at his side, steady as ever, the only anchor Batman still had.

And the world outside? It wasn't slowing down for their grief.

Mayor Quincy Sharp's new administration was moving forward with something horrific: the Arkham City Project. The plan was insane. A super-prison built in the decaying slums of New York, walled off and sealed like a tomb. Criminals, gang leaders, and even the mentally ill were to be thrown inside with little oversight, allowed to fester in chaos.

And at the heart of it all, overseeing every detail with that unsettling calm, was one man:

Professor Hugo Strange.

Brilliant. Eerie. Always watching. Strange had been hired as the face of the project, Sharp and Deputy Mayor Wilson Fisk's "expert" in criminal psychology. His TYGER mercenaries patrolled the streets with unchecked authority, answering to no one but City Hall. The press painted it as revolutionary. Safer streets. A bold step forward.

But Y/N knew better. He could see the design for what it was: a city-sized nightmare waiting to happen.

Yet he couldn't stop it.

Y/N thought he could shoulder it all alone. After Jason, the pain, the anger, the responsibility... it felt like his burden to carry, and his alone. But grief doesn't just scar one person. It bleeds into everyone around them.

Barbara Gordon learned that the hard way.

The scare with Falcone's and Maroni's men should've been her wake-up call. One bad night. One wrong turn. A broken leg that put her out of the game for months. And though she'd healed, though the fire in her wanted to put the cowl back on and get back into the fight, Y/N wouldn't allow it. Not anymore.

Y/N: Oracle. That's who you are now. You want to help me? Help me from here. Behind the screens. Where I know you're safe.

He said it like it was final. Like it was law.

Part of her understood. After Jason, who could blame him? The thought of losing Commissioner Gordon's daughter, another teenager under his watch would destroy what little was left of him. But another part of Barbara resented it. Batgirl had been her escape. Her way of proving herself, not just to him, not just to her father, but to herself. And now? He'd stripped that away.

So she did as he asked. She stayed in the chair. The girl behind the comms. The voice in his ear. Oracle. She'd done it before. Back in Arkham Asylum, when everything was spiraling into chaos. But back then, she could still choose. She could be both. Now, it was as if Batman had decided for her.

Kate noticed the bitterness right away. She noticed it in Barbara's silences, in her clipped words, in the way she avoided eye contact when the cowl was mentioned. And she noticed it in Y/N too... the way he thought locking everyone down, cutting them off, would keep them safe.

So she confronted him.

Kate: You're not an island. You can't shut the world out. Not her. Not me. Not anyone.

He'd clenched his jaw, ready to argue, but Kate didn't let him.

Kate: Barbara's not Jason. And she's not you. You can't smother her because you're afraid. If you keep grounding her, you'll break her spirit before any criminal does. Let her be Batgirl. Just... make her promise. No patrols alone. Ever.

It was the only compromise Y/N could live with. And though it went against every instinct to keep her under lock and key, he nodded. Slowly. Barbara was Batgirl again, but not without conditions.

And then came the newest complication.

Timothy Jackson Drake

Unlike Jason and Dick, Tim wasn't an orphan, wasn't broken in the same way. He hadn't been chosen. He had forced his way into the mantle.

Tim had figured it out. By studying the first Robin's fight patterns. By recognizing a signature acrobatic flourish he'd once seen as a child under the circus tent, watching the Flying Graysons. From there, the pieces fell into place: Dick Grayson adopted by billionaire Y/N Wayne. Robin appearing soon after. Vanishing from New York for a while. Batman fighting on, never alone.

Tim Drake had done the math. And the answer was one name: Batman was Y/N Wayne.

It was infuriating. Impressive. Dangerous. And undeniable.

So now, for the first time, Robin wasn't a boy Y/N had chosen. He wasn't someone Y/N had brought in out of compassion or circumstance. Tim had chosen himself.

And Y/N hated it. Hated how much it reminded him of Jason's stubbornness. Hated how powerless it made him feel. But deep down, in the silence of the cave, he knew what Tim had said was true:

Tim: Batman needs a Robin.

Midtown High

The final bell rang, and the hallways were chaos. Lockers slammed, sneakers squeaked against the floor and voices bounced off the walls

Tim Drake was at his locker, books stacked neatly in his arms, papers folded with the precision of someone who couldn't stand disorder. On the outside, he looked like any other student quiet, wiry, hair a little messy, backpack too heavy for his frame. But on the inside? He was always working, always thinking. Always analyzing.

He slipped a notebook into his bag, the one filled with notes that weren't for class. Surveillance times, movement patterns, Wayne sightings that didn't match up. He shut it quickly as a voice broke through his concentration.

Stephanie: Hey Tim.

Stephanie Brown. Blonde hair, a spiral notebook hugged against her chest. She leaned casually against the locker next to his, eyes bright, lips curled into that smile that always managed to disturb his focus more than he'd like to admit.

Stephanie: You free this weekend?. We've gotta knock out that history paper. Ms. Kresnik wasn't kidding... she wants everything about Arkham City.

Tim blinked, snapping back to reality. He'd almost forgotten about the assignment. Almost.

Tim: Uh... yeah. I mean, sure. I'm free. You wanna meet at the library? Saturday?

Stephanie tilted her head, studying him for a second.

Stephanie: Library? Wow. Didn't know you were such a nerd, Timothy.

Tim smirked faintly

Tim: Academically inclined, actually.

She laughed, shaking her head.

Stephanie: Fine. Saturday... don't be late. 

Later that day...

Wayne Manor, Westchester

The cold January wind rattled the windows of Wayne Manor, the massive estate standing like a lonely fortress against the world. Inside, Alfred met Tim at the door, coat draped over one arm, his voice polite but tinged with concern.

Alfred: Master Timothy. A pleasure to see you again. Do come in.

Before Tim could even reply, a blur of golden fur barreled into him. Lucky, the pizza dog. Tim laughed, kneeling as the dog licked his face, tail wagging furiously.

Tim: Guess someone misses me.

Tim said, scratching behind the dog's ears.

Alfred allowed himself the faintest smile.

Alfred: Indeed.

As Tim rose, he spotted Kate across the hall. She was sitting on the edge of the grand staircase, turning her engagement ring around her finger. She looked tired, not physically, but emotionally, worn thin by months of grief and silence. Still, she managed a soft smile as she saw him.

Kate: Hey, Tim. Glad you could come. He's... downstairs.

Tim nodded, glancing at her hand.

Kate: Depends on the hour. Some days he's just quiet. Others... he's Batman 24/7. He thinks if he keeps moving, he won't feel it. But I know better.

She gestured for him to follow. Together they descended the familiar stone staircase into the Batcave.

The hum of the Batcomputer filled the vast chamber, its glow casting a pale light across walls lined with technology, armor, and memories. At the center, hunched forward in the chair, was Y/N.

Dark circles bruised the skin beneath his eyes, his jaw tight, his hands clenched on the keyboard as if it were an enemy he couldn't beat. Dozens of files sprawled across the screens. Arkham City blueprints, Hugo Strange's movements, TYGER guard patrol routes. His mind was a machine running on fumes.

But when he looked up, and saw Kate and Tim standing there, something shifted. His eyes softened just enough. The exhaustion didn't vanish, but it bent under the weight of something else.

Kate smiled faintly. And for the first time all day, so did he.

Y/N: Tim... you're here.

Tim nodded, walking closer.

Tim: Thought you could use another mind on this.

Y/N looked at him, and for a brief second, the shadow of another boy flickered in his thoughts. 

Jason

The name almost slipped past his lips, but he caught it, swallowing hard. He forced himself to focus on the boy in front of him, not the ghost behind.

Kate stood back, watching the two of them, her heart heavy but hopeful. Y/N wasn't gone. Not yet. Not while Tim was here. Not while she was here.

A couple of hours later...

His hair was damp with sweat, his shoulders sagged with exhaustion, and his eyes burned from staring at endless screens. Tim, seated nearby, didn't say anything... he knew better than to point out the obvious: Batman was tired.

Y/N: You keep digging. I'll... take five. Focus on this Hugo Strange.

Tim nodded instantly.

Y/N: Got it.

Y/N gave him a small nod of approval before heading toward the cave stairs. The stone steps creaked under his boots as he climbed, and with each step, the weight of Batman peeled away, if only slightly.

When he reached the manor's main floor, a blur of golden fur came bounding toward him again. Lucky barked and leapt onto him, paws pressing into his chest. For a split second, Y/N laughed... a sound so rare it almost startled him.

Y/N: Alright... okay.

He said, kneeling to ruffle the dog's ears. Lucky licked his face, tail wagging with reckless joy. For once, Y/N didn't push him away.

From the archway of the living room, Kate Bishop leaned against the frame, wineglass in hand. Her breath caught in her chest. It was the first time in months she'd seen Y/N like this. No cape, no armor, no scowl that turned him into a stranger. Just Y/N Wayne, messy hair, dark eyes, and a weary smile that reminded her why she loved him.

Kate: You look human again.

Y/N looked up at her, still petting Lucky.

Y/N: Yeah... I know.

She chuckled, but her eyes shimmered with something deeper. She crossed the room and sat down on the couch, patting the spot beside her. He hesitated... the Dark Knight wouldn't sit. But Y/N Wayne did. So he joined her.

For a moment, they just sat there in silence, the fire crackling in the fireplace, Lucky sprawling at their feet. Then Y/N finally spoke, his voice low, thoughtful.

Y/N: I've been... monitoring. There are more people with special abilities out there, Kate. The Avengers... even with their politics, their lawsuits, their fighting... they mean well. Sam's trying to pull them back together. He asked me for advice a while back. Wanted to know how to build a team that could last.

Kate raised a brow.

Kate: And what did you tell him?

Y/N: That it's not about costumes or contracts. It's about trust. It's about family. That's what makes it work.

She tilted her head.

Kate: Sounds like you've been thinking about it.

Y/N sighed.

Y/N: After Ross... after his meltdown in D.C, after Valentina paraded her... Avengers in front of cameras like toys in a store window. Red Guardian, Walker, Ghost, and whoever this Bob is. The world doesn't just need symbols. It needs something real. People who aren't tied to bureaucracy or copyright suits. A team that can stand with the Avengers, but doesn't answer to them.

Kate watched him closely, her lips curving into a faint, knowing smile.

Kate: You're not just talking about them. You're talking about you.

Y/N turned to her, the firelight catching the exhaustion in his face, but also a flicker of determination.

Y/N: I've been Batman for a little more than three years, but... it feels like ten. Maybe... maybe it's time for something bigger. Something that doesn't just strike fear. Something that gives people hope.

Kate leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder.

Kate: Maybe... a League?

(A/N: Consider this a retcon for previous chapters about Y/N putting the Avengers back together and yadda yadda. Maybe just consider him talking to other heroes and maybe assembling a team for young heroes. Had to do this to mantain the narrative about what happened in Brave New World and Thunderbolts with Avengers vs AvengerZ)

Days Later...

Arkham City, Randall's Island

Randall's Island and a slice of the Bronx had been carved into a ghetto-prison, walled off from New York proper. On paper, it was an "urban renewal", a way to concentrate the worst criminals away from civilians. In reality, it was a cage built for monsters, thrown together by politicians who didn't understand what monsters do when they're left to rot.

And like clockwork, chaos reigned.

Within a week, gangs had carved the island into territories, using old buildings, warehouses, and abandoned projects as fortresses. Blood painted the cracked pavement, graffiti claimed buildings like flags of conquest.

Joker's men ruled the old psychiatric center at the island's heart, along with an old steel mill laughing faces smeared across walls, smoke stacks coughing green toxins into the night. His voice echoed from loudspeakers, mocking, taunting, daring anyone to step onto his streets. Still... there was something weird about the clown. No one but Harley saw him.

Across the river-facing warehouses, Harvey Dent... Two-Face, ironically, made an old courthouse his main point, criminals kneeling in the cold while their lives hung on a single spin of a coin. Half the docks were aflame; the other half frozen under his cruel justice.

The Iceberg Lounge, once Penguin's high-end nightclub, was rebuilt, neon blue lights glowing like a lighthouse for the desperate. Inside, Oswald Cobblepot ran an empire of guns, smuggling, and information, his men armed to the teeth, their black-market crates stacked like Lego bricks.

But it wasn't just Batman's rogues' gallery who thrived here. Strange had flooded Arkham City with enemies from all corners of New York's underworld.

Benjamin Poindexter... Bullseye had made himself a very luxurious mercenary, his precision was lethal. Every bullet, every blade, a message: cross him, and you won't live to regret it.

Rhino, too dumb to scheme but too strong to stop, turned blocks into his personal kingdom. He charged through buildings, tearing down walls, herding lesser inmates into his gang like cattle.

Shocker, desperate as ever, weaponized chaos. His gauntlets thundered across the streets, leveling buildings just to prove he could. Men followed him for his power, others for the promise of destruction.

And in the shadows, Tombstone ruled quieter, his albino skin glowing faintly under the sickly streetlights. His gang was efficient, organized, ruthless. Where others spilled blood for spectacle, Tombstone did it to build something lasting: a criminal empire thriving under Strange's nose.

Every night, the gangs clashed. Every day, TYGER patrols stalked the skies, helicopters sweeping over ruined projects, scanning for vigilantes. But everyone knew the truth: Arkham City wasn't a prison. It was a powder keg.

And all it needed was a match.

Two-Face's Courthouse, Arkham City

What was once a place of law and order was now a lair of corruption, the scales of justice replaced by a crude, scorched banner bearing the image of Harvey Dent's infamous scarred coin.

Down in a dim-lit chamber behind the main hall, a couple of Two-Face's goons hunched around a freshly installed safe, hidden neatly behind a massive painting of Cain carrying Abel. The frame was crooked, the symbolism too on-the-nose for any of them to appreciate.

Two-Face Goon 1: How long till the boss gets here?

Goon 2 didn't look up from the half-empty bottle in his hand.

Two-Face Goon 2: He'll be here.

Goon 3 leaned closer, voice low.

Two-Face Goon 3: Riley said he saw the Bat. Is he here too?

For a heartbeat, silence hung heavy in the room. Then, behind them, the tall courthouse window darkened. A shadow stretched across the floor, tall, hunched, ears pointed.

Two-Face Goon 2: In Arkham City? Why would he come here? You guys need to chill out...

CRASH!

The sound of glass shattering ripped through the chamber, shards raining down like ice. The three men spun around, weapons raised, adrenaline surging...

But it wasn't Batman.

A sleek figure crouched in the broken windowframe, one leg bent, one extended, her whip coiled at her hip and the moonlight kissing the black leather of her catsuit. Ruby goggles flashed as she smirked, lips curling in delight.

Selina Kyle.

Selina: Sorry to disappoint you, boys...

She purred, slipping down from the sill with feline grace. Her claws slid from her gloves with a metallic snikt, gleaming under the weak light.

Selina: It's just little ol' me...

The goons spread out, circling Selina like hyenas.

Goon 1 lunged first, swinging a pipe at her head. Selina ducked low, rolling under the swing with ease. She rose behind him, claws flashing, and raked across his arm. He screamed, dropping the pipe as she kicked his knees out, sending him crashing face-first into the marble floor.

The second raised his gun, but Selina's whip lashed out, curling around his wrist. A sharp tug and the pistol clattered across the room. 

She yanked him forward, spinning gracefully and slamming her boot into his chest. He flew back into a pillar, groaning in pain.

Two more tried to come at her at once. Goon number 3 grabbed her from behind, but Selina bent backward, flipping herself over his shoulder. Her claws slashed his cheek as she landed lithely on her feet. Without missing a beat, she swept her leg under him, toppling him into his buddy. 

The last one, bigger than the rest, rushed her head-on with a baseball bat. Selina only smirked, sidestepping his swing and letting him stumble past her. She hooked her whip around his ankle mid-stride, yanking it hard. The brute tripped, face smashing into the marble with a crunch that left him motionless.

Selina exhaled, brushing a strand of black hair back behind her ear.

Selina: Gosh, Harv. You need better taste in men...

She stepped over the bodies, claws clicking against the wood as she pushed the painting aside, revealing the hidden safe.

Selina then hummed lightly to herself, the soft melody of a jazz tune filling the air as she slipped a pick into the lock. A couple of minutes and a satisfying click later, the safe swung open.

Inside, she finds a microchip, apparently very important to her. She slipped it into her phone, the screen flickering as encrypted data began to stream. Whatever this was, it was valuable. Too valuable to leave behind.

But before she could react...

Click.

Cold metal pressed against the back of her head.

And then, that gravelly, split voice cut through the silence.

Two-Face: Get your filthy paws off that... now.

Arkham City Front Gate

The air was sharp with cold, the Hudson winds cutting through the crowd of bundled-up reporters, activists, and curious onlookers who had gathered outside the newly fortified walls of Arkham City. Spotlights from TYGER guard towers swept lazily across the snowy pavement, illuminating the giant steel gates that separated the city within the city from the rest of New York.

Dozens of cameras whirred and clicked, the chatter of journalists filling the space.

At the front of the press line, Vicki Vale stood with a microphone, speaking crisply into the lens of a camera crew.

Vicki: In a few moments, Y/N Wayne will be live on stage to explain his sudden interest in politics. The famous playboy millionaire has never...

A voice interrupted her mid-broadcast.

Y/N: It's billionaire, Vicki. Millionaires are so last year.

Heads turned. Photographers swiveled. Out of the shadows, Y/N Wayne strode into the spotlight, clad in a tailored black overcoat and scarf, his hair swept back, expression calm but purposeful. A small pin glittered on his lapel. 

A bold statement:

"SHUT DOWN ARKHAM CITY."

Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd as every camera focused on him.

He gave Vicki a polite half smile before stepping onto the temporary stage that had been erected for the press conference. Microphones from every news outlet leaned toward him 

Y/N took his time adjusting the podium mic, eyes scanning the massive wall behind him. Its barbed wire and floodlights made the island look more like a war zone than a prison.

He exhaled once, then spoke, his voice carrying across the frosty night.

Y/N: Thank you. Thank you, people of New York.

The crowd hushed.

Y/N: Imprisoned behind these walls, gang leaders are fighting a bloody war in the middle of our once great city. Every inmate from Arkham Asylum and Rikers Island has been relocated to this facility.

He leaned in slightly, intensity building in his tone.

Y/N: How can this be safe for our people? How can this be just? Tonight, I am announcing the beginning of a campaign. A campaign to shut down Arkham City and make New York safe again.

The crowd broke into chaos. Reporters shouting questions, flashes of cameras popping like fireworks, a mix of cheers and angry heckles from protestors on both sides of the argument.

But then... the sound of engines.

Black TYGER vans screeched to a halt on the perimeter. The hiss of smoke grenades filled the air, releasing thick clouds of white across the stage. Panic erupted. Civilians screamed and scattered, trampling over camera wires as journalists scrambled for cover.

Through the haze, armed TYGER guards in black combat gear stormed the platform. Two of them flanked Y/N, rifles raised.

TYGER Guard: Hands in the air, Wayne!

Y/N slowly raised his arms, his expression calm but his eyes were sharp, calculating. He could've taken them down in seconds. But not here.

TYGER Guard: We have Wayne! Target secured

Before he could finish, the butt of a rifle cracked hard against the back of Y/N's head.

Complete darkness...

Y/N tried to move. Only to realize his wrists were bound behind the back of a metal chair. His coat and scarf were gone, his tie loosened. Somewhere nearby, a faint spotlight buzzed, the only light in the suffocating black room.

Then... a voice. Calm. Precise. Almost surgical.

Hugo: Awake, at last.

The sound of shoes clicking on stone grew closer. From the shadows emerged Professor Hugo Strange. Perfectly groomed beard, round glasses gleaming in the dim light, hands folded neatly behind his back like a man conducting an experiment.

He circled Y/N slowly, studying him like a specimen under a microscope.

Hugo: Forgive the... unceremonious welcome. But then again, you should be accustomed to such treatment by now.

Y/N lifted his head, eyes narrowing. He forced his voice steady.

Y/N: You have... no idea who you're dealing with.

Strange smiled, leaning down so his glasses reflected Y/N's face back at him.

Hugo: On the contrary... I know exactly who I'm dealing with.

Y/N's jaw tightened.

Strange paced back into the light, theatrically pulling a file from his coat pocket. Thick. Years of documentation. He tapped it against his palm.

Hugo: I know the boy who watched his parents die in an alley. I know why you fear losing those you... take under your wing. Richard, Jason. And now... young Timothy.

Y/N froze. His heart thudded, but he didn't let it show.

Strange leaned closer, whispering now, voice soft and venomous.

Hugo: Drop the act, Mr. Wayne. Or should I say... Batman?