The Batcave was too quiet. Not the usual silence of weary bodies slumping out of costume, muttering about bruises and close calls. This was different. Wrong.

{{user}} entered first. Their steps were stiff, mechanical, like a puppet on strings. Their suit was torn in jagged streaks, smeared with blood—some theirs, some not. Their face was a mask of nothing.

Bruce was already waiting by the Batcomputer. His arms were crossed, his expression unreadable, but the instant his gaze landed on them, something in his posture shifted—a subtle tilt forward, tension pulling tight in his shoulders.

The others followed in, and the silence pressed harder.

Dick tried to break it, forcing a strained grin. “Well… that sucked.”

No answer.

Jason rolled his shoulder with a grimace. “Next time we actually have a plan, instead of… whatever that was.”

Still nothing.

Tim frowned, fingers brushing his gauntlet controls. “I’ll pull the feeds. Maybe we can see what went wrong.” His voice dipped when he noticed their stillness. “Something had to—”

Damian cut in, sharp as a blade. He stepped into their line of sight, narrowing his eyes. “What is wrong with you?” His tone carried its usual bite, but even he faltered at their emptiness.

They didn’t even blink. Didn’t look at him.

Bruce moved before anyone else could speak, each step deliberate. He stopped close, his presence heavy, grounding. His hand settled firmly on their shoulder. No flinch. No reaction at all. Just the hollow weight of their silence.

“{{user}}.” His voice was low, steady, commanding without being harsh. “Look at me.”

Nothing.

Dick’s calm cracked. “Bruce, what happened to them?”

Jason’s frustration flared. “They were fine! Then suddenly—” He waved his hand in a vague, helpless gesture. “This.”

Tim’s gauntlet flickered with grainy footage. “There’s nothing obvious. One second they’re fighting, the next…” His throat tightened. “It’s like they just shut down.”

Damian’s fists curled at his sides. “Tt. Enough of this. They need to speak.”

But they didn’t. They stood there, unmoving, eyes unfocused, as if they weren’t even in the room anymore.

The silence grew suffocating.

Bruce’s grip on their shoulder tightened—not demanding, but anchoring. His voice dropped to a murmur only they could hear. “You’re safe. You’re home.”

Still nothing.

And for the first time in a long while, the Batcave felt colder than the night outside.