Batsis Stories, Imagines, & One-Shots

My Love For You Was Bulletproof, But You're The One Who Shot Me

She knew she'd meet her end at the hands of vigilantism. There was no doubt in her mind that she'd die before she was fifty either by a stray bullet or a knife through the ribs. Maybe a death squad sent by Ra's or some other homicidal maniac. But never in all her years as a vigilante, did she ever think she'd be staring down her death at the hands of her oldest friend. Of the man she loved—and thought loved her too.

***

"This is your fault," she scowled, slamming her fists against the sides of the metal wall. "I told you this was a trap, but did you listen to me? Noooo, Ghost-Maker knows everything."

"Oh please, you're the one who pushed us," he retorted, tapping his gauntlet and she looked over her shoulder, seeing him leaning against one of the other walls without a care in the world.

"I pushed us because we were about to be squished by spiked walls, genius." Her glare darkened and she looked around the metal box. "And now we're stuck in this...in this thing."

"Look on the bright side," he offered. "No impaling walls in sight."

"I'm going to murder you, Ghost-Maker," she retorted, then a click sounded, and the walls fell away, revealing an electrified cage, much bigger than the box. "What the fu—"

"Well, look who I caught!" a voice pitched and they turned, seeing Riddler in some kind of theatre box, his feet propped up on the railing. "Ghost-Maker and Widow-Maker! Now isn't this surprising?"

She scowled at the supervillain, pointing at him. "When I get out of this, I'm going to plant my foot in your ass."

Riddler tsked at her. "Now, now, Widow-Maker, that's no way to treat a host."

"A host to uninvited guests held against their will," Ghost-Maker interrupted, crossing his arms over his chest. "What do you want with us?"

"Now isn't that the million-dollar question," he replied, then clicked a button on his cane, and a wall outside the cage slid up, revealing five civilians tied to chairs, some type of collar around their necks.

Her eyes widened. "What the hell?" she shot Riddler a glare. "What are you playing at?"

He cleared his throat and stood up. "I want to play a game, Widow-Maker. Or better yet, I want you and Ghost-Maker to play a game."

The two vigilantes shared a glance then Ghost-Maker stepped forward. "And what game is that?"

Riddler grinned. "I want you and Widow-Maker to beat each other to death."

She huffed a laugh. "That's not a game. That's a death trap."

"True. But there is an objective to the trap." He tipped his head to the people. "One of you dies...or they all die."

"You're bluffing," she retorted, and he merely blinked and pressed a button.

One of the collars started beeping profusely, and the woman's eyes widened in terror as she screamed behind the gag.

"Wait! Okay!" she yelled. "Stop!"

Riddler clicked the button again. "I don't bluff, Widow-Maker." He reached over and pressed a new button and numbers flashed on a sign above the cage—ten minutes. "You've got ten minutes or you all die."

She frowned at the supervillain, quietly asking, "Ghost, what do we do?" hearing no response, she looked over. "Ghost?"

A hand shot out, cracking her across the jaw and she went to her knees, one hand coming to grip her jaw, the other fumbling along the floor for grip. She pulled her hand from her face—her lip had been split open and blood flowed down her chin.

"Ah, what the hell!" she screeched, turning her head to look up at him, but he gave no response, coming down at her with one of his swords. "Jesus Chr—" she rolled out of the way and scrambled to her feet, holding out her arms in a defensive pose. "Ghost, what are you doing?"

"Saving their lives," he merely replied, swinging the sword in a wide arc. "You heard him. Either we all die or some of us live."

"So what?" she bellowed, catching the sword in the claw outside her vambrace; shifting, she slammed her free palm against the flat side of the katana, snapping it in half. "You're just going to kill me! The lives of the many outweigh the lives of the few!"

"In a way," Ghost-Maker said, tossing the broken handle to the ground. "One of us has to die." The blue lights of his mask narrowed. "And it's going to be you."

Her own eyes widened, and she could barely prepare herself for the barrage of strikes that came her way. And while she had flexibility on Ghost-Maker, he had reach on her, and at some point, during the fight, he'd managed to grab her by the collar of her suit, slinging her backwards with all his strength.

And she realized much too late what he was aiming her at when her back collided with the side of the cage. A scream ripped from her throat as the electric current tore through her veins, frying her nerves to crisps; she collapsed onto the ground, pitching forward onto the cold floor, her cheek resting on the metal.

She saw him coming towards her and tears flooded her vision as she begged, "Ghost, please. Stop. Don't do this."

"Begging isn't going to save you." he rolled her onto her back, not that she had any strength to stop him, and wrapped one hand around her throat while the other pulled the second sword from his back. He paused to examine her, the swollen right eye, the busted left brow, split lips, and bloody nose. The tears slipped down her cheeks, mixing with the flowing blood and he brought the sword down at her.

Her hand snapped up, catching his wrist and she plead, "K, I love you." Her arm shook with the strain against his strength. "I love you," she cried, squeezing his wrist. "I know deep down there's something there. Please. Just—just stop."

He said nothing in return and suddenly, she felt her arm go slack, letting the sword come down again. A blast rocked the side of the room and Ghost-Maker shifted, wrapping an arm around her as he pulled her away from the debris. A pained cry sounded above them, followed by a grunt, then the electricity snapping against the metal of the cage fizzled out.

Ghost-Maker pulled away from her, getting to his feet, and said, "It's about time you showed up." She turned her head, seeing Batman free the last captive, then he came to the cage and started unlocking it.

"When Icon sent the S.O.S., I knew something was wrong." He looked at them. "Good job keeping the distraction up."

"We tried." Ghost-Maker turned and bent down, reaching for her. "Come on, (Y/N), let's—"

She slapped his hand away. "Don't touch me." Her voice was frigid, like frostbite and she staggered to her feet. "Don't ever touch me again." Her ankle was sprained, and she bit back a whimper as she stumbled and limped to the door.

"(Y/N), I wasn't going to kill you. You know that." Ghost-Maker murmured, and she glared over her shoulder. "You know I never would."

"He was right all those years ago. You are a sick, broken, monster." She spit at his feet. "And if you ever come near me again—I won't hesitate to kill you."

She spun on her heel and shoved by her brother, ignoring his gaze, as she hobbled to the nearest exit.

Batman glanced at Ghost-Maker, eyes widening for a split second at the defeat in his oldest friend's stance, his shoulders low, head turned away in shame; not wanting to breach the subject, he merely stated, "I'll go after her."

And Ghost-Maker said nothing in return.