Twenty minutes later, the Batmobile rolled to a stop outside the Iceberg Lounge.
By then, the place was already surrounded by the Gotham City Police Department. Regular customers had been cleared out, and the entire street carried that familiar, tense "something big happened" atmosphere.
Commissioner Gordon stepped forward with an amused grin as Batman climbed out.
"I heard from traffic control," Gordon said, unable to resist. "You were speeding and ran more than a dozen red lights. A few officers almost cooked their engines trying to chase you—and still couldn't catch you."
"Have them issue the tickets to me," Batman replied flatly. "I'll have someone pay."
Then he cut straight to the point.
"Are they still upstairs?"
Gordon nodded.
He was curious about what was going on above, but neither Robin nor the new "friend" Batman had brought in would let the police up.
"There's… this weird crystal material blocking the front entrance," Gordon explained. "Your kid and that newcomer said this needs to be handled by you personally."
Gordon started to gesture toward the front door—
—and then heard a sharp whoosh behind him.
He turned.
Batman was already gone.
Gordon sighed like a man who'd learned not to ask.
"Yeah. I figured you'd have your own way in."
Batman took the roof—grapnel, clean ascent, no wasted motion—then slipped through a hidden access point on the top floor and headed toward the suite where Penguin had been holding the meeting.
Inside the room, Ben had reverted to his human form. He and Robin sat watching Thomas Wayne, who was still locked inside the diamond-hard crystal cage.
Ben wasn't relaxed for a second.
This was another world's Batman. Even restrained, Thomas Wayne was not someone you treated casually. If he escaped, his familiarity with Gotham would make him nearly impossible to track down.
Robin caught a faint sound and turned.
A heartbeat later, Batman emerged from the shadows.
"Batman—you finally—"
Batman didn't answer.
He walked straight past Robin and stopped in front of Thomas Wayne.
He studied the unfamiliar bat-suit—different from his own—and asked in a voice so low it sounded like a threat made of gravel:
"Did you order Penguin to call that gang summit?"
Trapped in the crystal, Thomas Wayne's expression tightened with something heavy and raw.
This wasn't what he'd wanted.
He hadn't come here to face a symbol.
He'd come here to see his son.
Instead, the only thing standing in front of him was Batman—a silhouette that matched his own worst memories.
Batman's stare didn't soften.
"Tell me what you're trying to do."
Maybe this man was another Bruce Wayne's father. But to Batman, he was still an unknown variable—armed, ruthless, and operating inside his city.
Thomas finally spoke.
"I'm reorganizing Gotham's underground. The gangs aren't the root of Gotham's rot—but if they're controlled properly, you reduce conflict. You reduce casualties."
Batman went quiet.
He understood the logic far too well.
He'd imagined doing something similar himself—if he ever had the time. But Gotham had been a relentless stack of emergencies, leaving no room for long-term surgery.
And now Thomas had already gathered the pieces.
If Batman shut this down here and now, the gangs would scatter—or worse, explode into violent turf chaos. Even if the bosses escaped, the backlash could be catastrophic.
So Batman asked the real question:
"How do you know they'll obey you?"
Thomas's face stayed blank. He didn't posture.
He answered like a man reciting a plan he'd rehearsed a hundred times.
"This isn't my first day here. I spent half a month investigating every major gang—mapping structures, planting listening devices, learning habits."
Once Penguin issued the invitation, Thomas quickly confirmed which bosses would attend—and moved.
"When they left their bases, I hit their organizations. I cleaned out the ones that needed cleaning. And I took what matters."
Batman's eyes narrowed.
"What?"
"Their ledgers."
Their secret books. Their real money flows. Their crimes on paper.
Thomas wasn't just threatening violence—he was holding their financial arteries in his hand.
And he'd done it fast.
The entire operation—from the moment the meeting invites went out to the moment he finished collecting what he needed—had taken under two hours.
His schedule, he said, had been planned down to the minute.
No excess movement. No wasted time.
Ben couldn't help muttering, impressed despite himself:
"Yeah… okay. That's terrifyingly competent. Respect."
Batman considered it—then made his decision.
"If you can control them, then do it."
He turned away, already moving.
"As long as civilians aren't harmed, I won't interfere. But control yourself."
He looked back once, just enough for the warning to land like a blade.
"I don't want a day to come when I have to put you in Arkham with my own hands."
Then he motioned to Robin.
"We're leaving."
Robin followed—still shaken, still processing.
Ben blinked and lifted both hands in disbelief.
"Hold on—you're just leaving? What about me? What am I supposed to do with him?"
Batman didn't stop. He didn't turn around.
"How you handle him is your call."
His voice stayed steady, but something in it sounded… distant.
"You know what he becomes. You know what he'll do. You're better positioned to choose than I am."
Ben understood immediately.
Batman wasn't refusing because he didn't care.
He was refusing because he couldn't.
Twenty years was a long time—long enough to change a man into something unrecognizable. They had read each other perfectly in seconds… and still couldn't accept what they saw.
Batman trusted Ben to make the call precisely because Ben was outside the wound.
Behind them, trapped in crystal, Thomas Wayne raised his voice toward the retreating figure.
"I can take over the Batman work," Thomas said, rough and urgent. "You can just be yourself."
Batman didn't look back.
"I am Batman."
And he was gone—Robin with him—leaving Ben alone in the room with a caged, grieving, dangerous Thomas Wayne.
Ben exhaled hard.
"This is a headache… Why did it turn into this? Am I really the one who's supposed to handle this?"
He'd been naïve. He'd thought that if he just forced father and son into the same room early enough, the story could pivot into a happy ending.
Reality disagreed.
Batman had refused to communicate. They'd understood each other—and still nothing loosened. No knots untied. No healing.
And that old saying popped into Ben's mind again:
The whole Wayne family died in that alley. What survived was Batman.
It had always sounded like a meme.
Now it looked like a diagnosis.
Bruce Wayne needed therapy.
The problem was: Gotham's "famous" psychological professionals were… Gotham.
Harley Quinn. Hugo Strange. Scarecrow…
Ben ran through names and got nothing but red flags.
He needed an actual professional. Someone who could stabilize both Bruce and Thomas before Thomas did something irreversible out of obsession.
While Ben was thinking, Thomas Wayne's voice came through the crystal, quieter now—almost hollow.
"Did the Flash really show him the letter?"
Ben nodded.
"It's already in his hands."
Thomas let out a long breath.
"So it's worse than I thought."
He'd predicted what "this world's Bruce" might do after reading it.
Now he'd seen the answer in Batman's eyes and posture.
Not relief.
Not release.
Just deeper entrenchment.
"This city needs Batman," Thomas said grimly. "Maybe the whole world does. As long as there's evil… Batman doesn't disappear. And Bruce Wayne never gets to be free."
Ben cut in fast, trying to stop the spiral before it became a plan.
"Forget Bruce for a second—you should see a therapist too. That hit you hard."
Thomas scoffed.
"I am a doctor."
Before the night Bruce died, Thomas Wayne had been one of Gotham's best.
Ben didn't budge.
"And doctors can't treat themselves. 'Healers can't heal themselves,' right? Do you have any psychiatrist friends? Anyone you actually trust? Give me a name—I'll take you to them."
Thomas resisted at first.
He didn't want counseling.
He wanted an outcome: Bruce stops being Batman. Bruce becomes a doctor. Bruce lives.
Ben's tone sharpened.
"If you won't get help, then you stay right where you are. I'm not letting you walk free just so you can make Bruce 'retire' by doing something extreme."
Ben wasn't guessing. He'd seen how this story could go when grief got steering control.
"If you want him to take off the suit, then solve Gotham's crime problems. Don't hurt Bruce. Don't hurt his family. And understand this—no matter what you do to him, he won't 'go back' to being the old Bruce."
Thomas went silent for a beat.
Then, at last, he gave Ben a name.
"Leslie," he said. "Dr. Leslie Thompkins. She was my classmate. My friend."
Ben's eyes widened a fraction as the memory clicked into place.
Of course.
Leslie Thompkins—the doctor who treated Batman, one of the rare people who knew his identity, someone who could almost be called a second mother figure in Bruce's life.
Ben nodded once, decisive.
"Good. I'll get someone to bring her in. Right now."
Join here to read ahead.
In Star Rail, Ultra-Beast Armored — Have I Caught "Equilibrium"? l (Chapter 80)
Uma Musume, But I Only Have Five Years Left to Live (Chapter 175)
Zenless Zone Zero: I'm a Doctor, Not a Bangboo (Chapter 115)
Ben Tennyson Wants to Join the Justice League (Chapter 126)
TYPE-MOON: Redemption Beginning with the Holy Grail War (Chapter105)
Yu-Gi-Oh! — Transmigrated into the White Dragon Girl (Chapter100)
"Is this chat group even serious?" (Chapter82)
I, Lord Ravager, Utterly Loyal! (Chapter134)
Can Playing Games Save the World? 65
Crossover Anime Multiverse: The Demon Hunter of an Unnatural World 70
From Junkman to Wasteland 66
Weekly Refresh of Overpowered 31
I'm Grinding Proficiency Like 46
From Kiana, Lord Ravager, Onwa 87
Honkai: Is This Still the Prev 42
Elf: My Starter Pokémon Is Inc 65
Warhammer: My Primarch Is Remi 79
From Demon Slayer to Grand Ass 64
The Way the Umamusume Look at 68
Uma Musume, but My Cheat Power 73
Naruto: Weaving the Future, Be 45
Zenless Zone Zero, but Kamen R 49
Multiverse Crossover: The Perf 45
My Cyberpsycho Girlfriend 45
Uma Musume: The Dark Trainer 31
Uma Musume: A Calamity Born fr 27
I, a Reincarnation-Loop Player 26
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