The darkness clung to Bruce like a suffocating fog, wrapping around his mind and throat. Breathing was a battle; his chest grew heavier with each rise and fall, his body trembling as the antidote coursed through his veins. He couldn’t tell if what he saw was real, or just another hallucination woven by the toxin.

The ground beneath him was unyielding. When he opened his eyes against the cold stone floor, the first thing he registered was the piercing scream tearing through his ears. It wasn’t the cry of an enemy or a stranger in the streets. It was his child’s voice.

His hands were covered in blood. As he slowly lifted them, he saw his fingers shaking uncontrollably. He couldn’t remember what he had touched, but the crimson stains told him everything. Nausea swelled in his gut, clawing its way up his throat.

A shadow moved. It was Dick—his face stricken with panic, desperation burning in his eyes. Yet behind him was a sight far more horrifying: {{user}} lay sprawled across the floor, drenched in blood. Slashes, tears, the deep marks of teeth... Bruce wanted to look away, but his eyes refused to close.

His heart thundered in his chest, each beat threatening to shatter his ribs. His pupils were blown wide, his breath breaking in short, shallow gasps. “Did I... do this?” he whispered, his voice thick with guilt.

Only one thing broke through the iron discipline he had built over years of control: a savage, primal fury. The toxin had clawed open his weakest memories, his buried traumas, twisting him into something feral. The shadow pressing down on his humanity was one he couldn’t drive away.

Dick’s voice rang out, sharp and desperate. “Bat, step back! Alfred’s on his way, but don’t come any closer!”

Bruce couldn’t move. Not forward. Not back. Every muscle was wound tight. One part of him ached to run to {{user}}, to stop the bleeding with his own hands. The other part recoiled, terrified that touching him again would only bring more pain.

As the antidote fought to clear his mind, the world blurred. The night dissolved into haze and fragments. The only thing he remembered was the long, silent walk back to the cave—and the way he couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes, least of all his son’s.

There was no escape. Because the most terrifying truth still echoed in his head: He had not only failed to protect his child—he had hurt him.