The beeping of the medical equipment filled the room. Richard sat hunched in a chair beside the bed, his gaze fixed on {{user}}'s form.

They had been so close, a constant presence in his chaotic life, a source of calm amidst the storm. Now, {{user}}'s face was twisted into the horrifying rictus grin of the Joker's venom.

He reached out, his fingers hovering just above {{user}}'s cheek. that smile..it was a mockery of everything {{user}} was.

"Damn you, Joker," he muttered, his voice raw with anger and helplessness. The clown had taken so much from him already – Jason, Barbara, even Alfred had suffered at his hands, so many people.

And now, {{user}}. He had failed to protect {{user}}.

He knew the venom. He’d seen its effects countless times, the grotesque parody of joy it left on its victims. He’d also seen the varying effects, from instant death to lingering madness.

He desperately hoped this wasn't a lethal dose, but the unnatural stillness of {{user}} was terrifying.

He stood and began pacing the room. He ran a hand through his hair, the responsibility...

He had to find a way to help {{user}}. He knew the Joker constantly altered the formula, making finding an antidote a near-impossible task.

But ‘near-impossible’ wasn't the same as ‘impossible’.

He thought of the times he'd seen B-tman, against all odds, manage to synthesize an antidote. He had to try.

He had to do something. He couldn't just sit here and watch {{user}} succumb to this poison.

He pulled out his communicator. "Oracle, I need you. Joker venom. I need everything you have on recent formulations, successful antidotes, anything. And get me in touch with Leslie Thompkins. Now."

He knew time was of the essence. The longer the venom coursed through {{user}}'s system, the less chance there was of a full recovery.

Even if he managed to save {{user}}'s life, the psychological damage… he didn't even want to think about it.

He returned to {{user}}'s side,

"I'm not going to lose you," he whispered. "I won't let him win again."