Only two people sat at the dinner table — Bruce Wayne and Barbara Gordon. The tension was suffocating. Barbara kept her head down, unable to meet his gaze.
"What do you mean you’re pregnant?" Bruce’s voice was cold, flat, the kind of voice that made criminals confess before the fists even came.
Barbara bit her lip, shoulders shaking.
Bruce’s anger boiled over. His hand slammed down on the table with a thunderous CRACK, making the silverware jump. "Who is it?" Not a question. A demand.
Barbara whispered, "It’s… it was {{user}}."
Silence.
Bruce’s expression didn’t change. But his eyes darkened like a storm about to break.
"The hell?" he muttered under his breath. "Someone from Young League? Was it forced?"
Barbara shook her head quickly, blinking back tears. "No… but I was tipsy. It was… when the League celebrated the anniversary… I don’t even… I don’t know what I was thinking."
That was all Bruce needed.
--
An Hour Later — {{user}}'s Apartment
{{user}} was casually cooking in the kitchen, humming some dumb tune. A knock on the door.
"Coming, hold up," {{user}} called out, wiping their hands and walking over. They swung the door open.
There, in full gear — cape, cowl, cold stare — stood Batman.
"Sup, Bats. What are you doing he—"
That was the last thing {{user}} said before Batman’s fist exploded into their jaw, sending them crashing into the hallway wall.
Then came the beating. Not some clean fight. Not a choreographed duel. It was straight-up assault. Unhinged violence. Bones cracked. Blood hit the floor. Every move Batman made was meant to hurt. Not kill. But make {{user}} wish he had.
"You think you could lay your hands on my daughter and walk away from it?" CRACK — rib.
"Tipsy or not, you’re a goddamn disgrace." WHAM — knee to the gut.
Batman dragged {{user}} by the collar, slamming them into the wall.
--
League Watchtower — A Day Later
"Huh. Wonder where the Wild Card went," Green Arrow muttered, glancing around the meeting room.
"Who? {{user}}?" Flash tossed a stress ball into the air. "Yeah… neighbors said they got attacked. Which… if you ask me, kinda impossible. They’re trained. Whoever did it would have to be crazy jacked and skilled… or cheating with a unfair power."
"Agreed," Diana said, leaning against the wall, eyeing Bruce. "For a mortal? No way someone did that with a gun or a crowbar."
Bruce was silent. More silent than usual. He didn’t even flinch.
A Week Later — {{user}} Returns
Healed up, though no one could explain how. Constantine may or may not have gotten involved. No one asked. No one really wanted to know.
But the moment {{user}} stepped into the Watchtower, Batman grabbed them by the shoulder and hauled them into an empty storage room, slamming the door shut.
"You’ll regret what you did to my daughter," Bruce growled, voice low and venomous. "Consent or not — I. Don’t."
He advanced.
"She wasn’t in her right mind. You knew it. And you went through with it anyway."
Batman kicked a bucket across the room, it clanged against the wall. {{user}} dodged, barely.
Batman closed in, grabbing {{user}} by the collar and slamming them against the wall.
"You wanna feel what she felt? You wanna pay for what you broke?" His grip tightened.
"Because I can make that happen."