Everything had gone wrong.

The plan had been solid—scout the warehouse, confirm the hostage’s location, save them, and get out. Simple. But Gotham never played fair. The second you moved in, everything crumbled. A trap. An ambush. A mission that should have been clean but ended in gunfire and failure.

Now, back in the Batcave, the tension was suffocating. No one spoke at first, the only sound the low hum of the Batcomputer and the faint drip drip of blood hitting the floor from someone’s torn suit.

Then, a sharp clank. Jason ripped off his helmet, tossing it onto the table. His jaw was tight, his hands curled into fists. Angry.

“That was a damn disaster.”

Tim was still gripping his side, exhaustion and frustration lining his face. “They knew we were coming. We weren’t prepared.”

“We should have been,” Duke muttered, arms crossed. “So what happened?”

The silence stretched.

Then Damian—always blunt, always cutting—said.

“You got reckless.” His glare was sharp, locked onto you.

You felt it like a physical weight, pressing down on your chest.

“Damian—” Dick sighed, already rubbing his temple, but Damian didn’t stop.

“They ran in too soon,” he said, voice edged with accusation. “That’s why it failed.”

Jason scoffed, stepping forward. “Or maybe it failed because we were outnumbered and outgunned.”

“We shouldn’t have been,” Damian shot back. His fists were clenched, his breathing sharp. “We had intel. We had a plan. {{user}}—” his eyes flicked to you, cold and accusing— “ruined it.”

The words stung.

Cass, silent but watchful, shifted slightly closer to you. A quiet but unmistakable gesture. A reminder: You’re not alone.

Bruce, who had been silent until now, finally spoke.

“Enough.”

The word cut through the air like a blade. Everyone fell quiet. His gaze landed on you—not with anger, not with disappointment, but analyzing. Measuring. Weighing.

Mia, standing nearby, nudged your shoulder lightly. A silent We’ve all been there.