Chapter Text
Bruce couldn’t sleep. Even since Riddler had blown the seawalls two months ago, and flooded Gotham with a tsunami of water, he couldn’t sleep. Riddler had escaped Arkham, and was surely licking his wounds while waiting to strike again, and Bruce couldn’t sleep. Somewhere out in the city, Riddler was on the loose, wrecking havoc and wrecking lives. Bruce couldn’t sleep. The hero of Gotham, devil incarnate, wouldn’t sleep.
He knew he had to. He needed all his strength to protect this city. And yet, when he closed his eyes all he could see was the void. The Hellspawn whispers to him, reminding him of his failures and losses, and if he’d sleep, fall into the nightmare and never wake up. So he wouldn’t sleep, he’d stay awake for as long as it would take for him to catch Riddler.
He opens his eyes, surveying the room. The Batcave has always been dark and dingy, but now the lights are turned up as bright as they can be, the numerous screens on the walls shining. He’s lounging in the computer chair, dressed in the underclothes that goes beneath the Batsuit. The room hurts to look at, but Bruce can’t risk falling asleep.
He doesn't know the last time he slept. It feels like two days. Maybe more. Maybe less. Maybe he just woke up, maybe he’s been asleep for days, maybe it’s been weeks. In his mind, Bruce slams the breaks on that train of thought. He can’t afford to spiral. He looks across the room at the Batsuit. It’s laying on the floor in front of the mannequin that should be holding it. He smiles at it, and thinks of freedom.
The slits in the back for his wings, the tight leather, tough and sturdy, yet flexible. Bruce loves it, the freedom it provides. The world knows Batman as the Emissary of Hell, there is no reason to hide. In the air, he is free. The people of Gotham know about his wings, they know about his birthright, they know who he is. Batman, their hero. Someone who will always protect them. Bruce’s thoughts turn bitter as he thinks of the Riddler. He hadn’t been able to protect Gotham from that deranged terrorist.
He ponders over the irony of being the Emissary of Hell, and his place in the world. He is a devil, a demon, a hero, and a savior. The general public doesn’t know much about Emissaries, just that they exist, and Batman is one. Frankly, Bruce doesn't know much about Emissaries either. He knows he can sprout the wings of a bat from his back. That’s about it. The wings are large and leathery, black and smooth.
Bruce knows that Hell and Heaven are real, and he’s the avatar of Hell. He knows that he will get messages in his head, voices from the pit channeled directly into his brain. He calls them the Hellspawn. They urge him to kill, to corrupt the people of the world, to find the pious Emissary of Heaven, and destroy them.
The Emissary of Heaven. Bruce’s light, angelic counterpart. His adversary and ultimate archenemy, the avatar of Heaven in the unholy battle between the two realms. As legend says, the Emissaries will fight to the death, and be reincarnated as another soul. One must die.
Bruce sighs. He doesn’t want to kill anyone, let alone an angel. His life is a crusade in hopes of bettering humanity, not exterminating it. Besides, he doesn’t have the faintest idea where the other Emissary could be.
A flash on the computer screen draws him out of his thoughts. A popup on a Gotham gossip forum, detailing a special event at the Iceberg Lounge. Bruce blinks at it, trying not to keep his eyes closed for very long, lest he fall asleep. He squints at the popup. “Penguin with a very special guest?” the caption reads. Bruce knows he has to go, just in case, but he can’t go as Batman. Or Bruce Wayne. He has to be someone else entirely, someone who would fit in, and go unnoticed.
He gets up from the chair, and surveys the elevator. It’s a long and rickety ride, but he refuses to climb the stairs. He presses the button, waits for a moment, and gets in.
The elevator makes some weird noises, but it takes Bruce up to the top, the penthouse, where his bedroom is.
Entering his bedroom, Bruce does everything in his power not to immediately crash on the bed. The room is a mess, papers strewn everywhere, clothes on the floor, a bag of Selina’s toys from her last visit shoved into the corner of the room. He surveys his open dresser, frowning at what he sees. All stiff formal attire, nothing to go clubbing in. He sneaks a look at Selina’s bag. As if compelled by some otherworldly force, Bruce darts over to the bag. He knows he won’t find anything that will be wearable, but he can try.
The first couple things he pulls from the bag are sex toys and spare Catwoman masks. Next he pulls out a jumpsuit and a silk dress. He grabs the dress, petting its smooth material with his hands and feeling a sense of normalcy. It looks about his size. He frowns at it, confused by the ache in his chest as he looks at it. Longing. He can’t wear the dress, he just can’t, but he slips out of his underwear and steps into it anyway. It’s too small, a little short, and all around ill-fitting.
Bruce walks over to the mirror. His heart is pounding in his chest, and a creeping edge of fear shoots through his spine. But he looks, and his heart jumps, a sense of belonging inside of him. The dress doesn’t fit very well, but it doesn't matter. It’s black silk, with a slit in the leg, revealing Bruce’s milky white skin, so pale in comparison to the dark of the dress. His chest is heaving as he looks into the mirror, the stranger on the other side everything Bruce wants to be. He pushes his hair back, slicking it back and away from his angular face, and smiles, for the first time in a while.
He looks so right in the dress. The feeling of it on him is more comfortable than any suit, and not because of its cut or fit. It’s a dress, and Bruce feels pretty. He feels right.
Bruce shakes the confusing thoughts away, and the moment is shattered. He needs to get ready, the event is tonight. He rifles through Selina’s bag until he finds what he’s looking for.
A muzzle. The mask Selina put on him during a particularly kinky night, a muzzle for a human face. It’s perfect for the Iceberg Lounge, Bruce decides. It hides the lower half of his face, and is in style for a rave. Bruce clips it on, and pointedly doesn't look into the mirror as he leaves the room. He grabs one of Selina’s purses as an accessory.
Bruce begins his descent down the stairs, deciding not to take the elevator this time. There’s a static buzzing sound in his head, and The Hellspawn speaks.
“It’s arrived.” Bruce can’t describe the sound of the voice, it’s completely unfathomable that a human could make those noises, but Bruce understands it perfectly. “The Angel waits.”
“What?” Bruce asks, pausing in the stairwell. The angel waits? “But I’m the only Emissary, at least I thought so.”
Static is all Bruce gets in response, and he groans as he lets the implications of the message sink in. The Emissary of Heaven is letting their presence be known to him. Great, just what he needs. He has a lead on Penguin, and he’s sleep deprived and might have to face destiny sometime soon.
All he wants is to take down Penguin. If he can’t have Riddler, he’ll have the mob boss. And tonight, Bruce thinks, just may be the night.
/
The club music is booming, the beat shaking the floor and the lights flashing. Edward has never liked loud noises or flashing lights, all the action overwhelms him. But he promised Oz that he’d come, and he didn't break his promises. Edward fastens his Riddler mask on, and checks his outfit one last time. Black slacks, white button down, trench coat on. He smiles at his reflection in the mirror, trying to ooze confidence that he didn’t feel. His hair has gotten long in the past two months, but he likes it.
He steps out of the dressing room, his heeled boots clicking on the floor, and he turns down a hallway to Oswald’s office.
“Hey,” He says. “I’m ready.” Oz grins at him, and motions for Edward to spin. He does. Oz grabs a collar from the drawer to his left, and fastens it around Edward’s neck. He attaches a chain, and gives it an experimental tug. Edward winces, but Oz’s grin widens.
“Oh, this is gonna be perfect,” Oz says, “You’re so gullible.”
“What?” Edward asks, caught off guard and confused. Oz shakes his head, and suddenly gives the chain a yank, sending Edward tumbling into him. Edward yelps, but Oswald doesn’t stop there. He grabs Edward’s hands and cuffs them, and attaches the cuffs to the chain. A million thoughts and calculations go through Edward’s head, but he settles on one very distinct thought. Penguin had betrayed him.
Edward feels rage growing inside of him, and he lunges at Oswald, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of Oz’s hand. He shrieks and backhands Edward, jostling his other hand free from Edward’s teeth.
“You’re gonna regret that, you fucking rat,” Oz pants, and pulls Edwards mask off to gag him. He must have sensed Edward’s confusion, because he smiles at him. “You really thought I’d help you? After you got out of Arkham, you came into my house and demanded my help? No, no, it doesn't work like that. Sure, it took some time convincing you to trust me, you’re a smart man. But not smart enough. You killed Falcone. I became kingpin ‘cause of you, but nobody needs to know that. So I’m gonna auction off your life, here, tonight.” He strokes Edwards hair, and Edward can’t help but lean into the touch.
He seems to be done talking, stands, and yanks Edward’s chain. Oz pulls him along to a private room, where he orders him to sit. Edward sits, out of fear that Oz will hit him if he doesn’t.
They sit for about fifteen minutes while Oz talks on the phone, Edward’s mind wandering. It’s a lovely room, rather large with spacious couches. The colors are dim, and it smells of cigarette smoke. Edward is staring at the door when it opens.
/
Bruce decides that he doesn’t like the Iceberg Lounge. It’s loud and flashy, the people sweaty and drunk or high. He pushes past hordes of dancers, when he overhears it.
“Do you think it’s really him?” A woman asks.
“Hey, Penguin always delivers. If he says he’s got Ridder, he’s got Riddler.” A man’s voice says. Bruce whips around at the sound of Riddler’s name, and sees a man in a business suit with a scantily clad woman hanging onto his arm.
“Pardon me, Riddler’s here?” Bruce asks before he can stop himself. The man gives him a once-over, and shrugs.
“Yeah, Penguin’s auctioning off the right to kill him. Down in the bottom, if you have the money.” Bruce blinks at the man. Tonight really is his lucky night. He bids the couple a good night, and works his way across the dance floor to the elevators.
He remembers the way from his and Selina’s excursion to the club a couple months back. He types in the floor number, and waits. He opens Selina’s purse, and has never been happier for her illegal activities. The purse is full of cash, and it’s a rather large purse.
The elevator dings and opens to a floor full of very expensively dressed men and women. Bruce slips out, and decides his best chance to find where the auction is happening is to mingle.
The next ten minutes of his life are awful. Bruce hates small talk, and all these people are absolutely repulsive. It takes some digging, but he finally has Riddler’s location.
According to a woman named Amy, he’s being kept in a private room with Oz before the auction starts in the main room, which Bruce is currently standing in. He looks back at the purse and realizes that he doesn't have anywhere near enough money on him as these people do. Then it’s back to the old fashioned way, Bruce supposes. Kidnapping.
He excuses himself to the restroom, which is located near the private room that Amy described. Bruce steals himself for whatever he sees, and kicks the door open.
/
A androgynous person in a silk black dress with a muzzle on their face has kicked open the door. They walk into the room, danger radiating off of them in a deadly aura. Oswald hangs up the phone, and grabs his gun.
“Who the fuck are you?” He asks, letting go of Edward’s chain. “Get out before I shoot you!” His voice raises a couple octaves, and as the person advances, Oz shoots.
They erupt into motion, a fluid grace about them as they duck below the path of the bullet. They’re across the room in seconds, disarming Oz with ease and landing a solid punch on his jaw. Edward takes the opportunity to grab his own chain, and starts moving towards the door. He doesn’t get very far, as the stranger sweeps a leg out, tripping Edward. Penguin moves to stand again, but he’s easily knocked down and out by the stranger.
“Hello,” Edward begins, but is stopped by them purposefully walking up to Edward, and slams their head into Edward’s, headbutting him as hard as they can.
The pain is blunt and familiar, but as soon as their skin touches, static erupts in Edward’s brain. The voice of the Seraph speaks to him, as her voice is always clear and loud amongst the chaos and the racket in his mind.
“It arrives. The Demon is here.” Her voice isn’t in English, any human tongue, but Edward understands her clearly and perfectly. “Remember, Emissary. Remember.”
Edward steps back, reeling. The person across from him suddenly turns and sprints out of the room.
Edward takes a deep breath, and tries to ignore the memories that the Seraph is trying to pull up.
“No,” He whispers to her, “I don't want to.” But she pays him no mind, and they come flashing at him anyway.
She is playing outside, climbing a very tall tree, and she falls. But then she isn’t falling. With a crack of light, wings erupt from her back, and she glides down. The other children gasp and point, but the wings disappear. She insists she has them, but the nuns don’t believe her.
She is a child in the orphanage, burying the body of a roadkill squirrel. She cries and cries as she digs, willing the squirrel to live again. But of course, it doesn’t. She doesn’t know why God gave her wings, if she is not an angel. And if she is an angel, she can heal this squirrel. But God is cruel, and the squirrel is dead.
She kicks and fights and screams, but no one hears her. The priest takes and takes and takes, leaving her an empty, gaping hole. She is alone, but he will come back, night after night after night. This is the night that she will kill him, his hands and spear will invade her wilting and filthy garden no more.
She feels empty. She resolves to never become an angel again. She will hack off her wings with a hatchet and bury the memories so far down that she’ll never know. She’ll never know who the Emissary of Heaven is.
Edward gasps as he comes back to the present. He can’t believe he ever forgot. How could he have? The Emissary of Heaven? Him? It seems like so long ago, but the memories are shiny and new, painful all the same.
“The Demon must die,” the Seraph hisses into his mind. “You must kill it.” Edward frowns. Does this mean that the person who just knocked Oz out was the Emissary of Hell? No, that couldn't be right, because Batman is the Emissary, everyone knows that, they’ve all seen him flying around Gotham on his leathery wings.
Unless, of course, the person in the dress was Batman. Edward frowns, they did have similar fighting styles, and builds, both all made up of lean muscle.
“Yes,” the Seraph interrupts, “Kill Batman.”
“Yes. Kill Batman,” Edward smiles to himself, “I will kill him. Not for Heaven, but for me.” He says. Heaven had long ago abandoned him, but this is his destiny. He will become the man who killed the Bat.
He lets himself return to the present, and he crawls over to Oz and grabs the key to his chains from his pocket. He unlocks himself, and takes the Riddler mask from his other pocket. He dons the mask.
He sheds the button-up and cuts two holes in the back of the trench coat with the knife from Oz’s boot. He looks down at his chest and smiles. Oz was a backstabber, but at least he’d paid for a new chest binder for Edward.
He puts the trench coat back on, and wills his wings to come back. They aren’t, Edward realizes, feeling fear deep in the pit of his stomach.
“Just breathe, and they will,” The Seraph says, “Just breathe.”
He focuses and takes a deep breath. Then he feels it, a lifeline floating in the vast ocean of his mind, and he swims to it, and grabs it.
The pain is brief, and in a flash of white light, they appear. Once a brilliant white, now they’re yellow-ish, slightly bloodied, covered in various stains, feathers in a state of disarray, they look like shit. But they’re there, and that’s all Edward can ask for.
/
Bruce kicks the door down, and begins stalking towards Penguin, who is holding a gun. He easily dispatches the mob boss, and trips Riddler, who is attempting to escape. Riddler falls to the floor, Bruce grabs him by the collar, and slams his head down into Riddler’s face, hoping to knock him out.
Then, as their skin touches, Bruce feels the static roar at him. Bruce’s eyes close, and in that split second, everything is right. He is going to kill the Angel, he will fulfill his birthright as the Emissary.
But Bruce doesn’t kill, he remembers with shocking clarity. He doesn’t kill, he will not take the life of this man. Because that’s all Riddler is, all he can be. It’s impossible, he isn’t the other Emissary.
“He is. Kill him,” The Hellspawn commands. “Heaven must fall.” Bruce opens his eyes, refusing to believe it, but deep down he knows the Hellspawn is right, in that respect at least.
Riddler’s horrified face looks back at Bruce, and then he closes his eyes and whimpers. He looks as shocked and lost as Bruce feels. The urge to kill, rip into the Angel’s flesh, is too strong for Bruce, so he turns and runs.
He runs to the stairs, and sprints up to the exit of the Iceberg Lounge as fast as he can possibly go, mounting his motorcycle.
Bruce drives quickly and dangerously, all sharp turns and running red lights. He pulls into the tunnel that leads to the Batcave, and parks.
“Alfred,” He shouts, “I need your help!” The lights have been dimmed in the Batcave, making the atmosphere a little less harsh, more inviting. Thank God for Alfred, the man is sitting at a computer and looks over at Bruce skeptically. Bruce’s face flushes when he remembers the dress and muzzle that he’s wearing. He hastily unclips the muzzle, and Alfred chuckles.
“Master Bruce, are you alright? What do you need help with?” He asks, British accent soothing Bruce’s frayed nerves.
“Alfred… Riddler is the other Emissary,” Bruce sighs. “Our skin touched. I found him at the Iceberg Lounge, and we fought. But when I touched him, it just… Happened. I don’t know how. He seemed as shocked as I did. I don’t know what to do.”
To his credit, Alfred has maintained a blank face throughout his explanation. His expression softens at Bruce’s last sentence. “Well, all we can do is prepare. We have to find him and turn him over to authorities, then we can worry about your unholy destiny. You won’t kill anyone.” His words are kind and sincere, but Bruce still feels on edge.
“I don’t know Alfred, the urge was so strong.” Alfred walks over to Bruce, and pulls him into a hug. Bruce freezes at first, unsure. He hasn’t felt this warm or safe in a long while. Bruce brings his arms up to wrap them around Alfred, unsure. They stand like that for a while longer, before Bruce wiggles out of Alfred’s grasp.
“Now, Master Bruce, let’s get you some new attire.” Bruce frowns, and before he can stop himself, he opens his mouth.
“No!” He says. Alfred looks at him quizzically. Bruce sighs, closes his eyes and gathers the courage to voice his thoughts. “I like the dress. I like the way I look in it, and I like how I feel in it. I feel pretty, and right, and better. But it’s not just the dress,” his voice breaks, “I think somethings wrong with me.”
Bruce waits with bated breath for Alfred to say something. When he opens them, Alfred is smiling at him.
“There is nothing wrong with you, Master Bruce.” Alfred says, and Bruce collapses into his waiting arms, trying not to cry. “I am so proud of you, you must know that. It’s not an easy thing to be yourself.” Alfred adds, as Bruce sobs into his shoulder. “Do you want to still be addressed as Master Bruce?”
“I don’t know,” He sniffles. “Can you call me Bat? Just Bat?” His voice is weak and trembling. Alfred nods, and the world is right again.
They pull apart, and Bat is smiling.
“I think I have to sleep.” He says, smile disappearing. “Can you… Stay in the room while I sleep?” Alfred says.
“Yes, Master Bat. I can.”
When Bat wakes, he smells eggs cooking. Alfred must be making breakfast, he thinks. He stands and walks to the kitchen, where sure enough, Alfred is cooking.
“I’m gonna go out, as Batman.” Bat says, and Alfred gives him a thumbs up. Bat takes the elevator to the cave, where he dons the Batsuit, and wills his wings to sprout. They do, and he runs down the tunnel, to the outside and takes flight.
/
Edward wills the wings away, and runs away from Oz and the private room. He makes it outside, and summons forth the wings, leaping into the air. He glides on the current, high above Gotham city. The people look like ants, the lights are pinpricks, and the stench is gone. But he knows it can’t last forever, and he descends down onto an empty alleyway, the one he’d been using as his home base before Oz had found him.
Oz, what a piece of shit. He’d faked nice to Edward, bought him things, only to try and sell him like a piece of meat. Edward clenches his fists and shakes his head, clearing the memories from his mind, no use moping around.
He pulls the Riddler mask from his pocket and dons it. He doesn’t have the plastic wrap, so his chin length hair flows free behind it. He takes to the sky again, darting around to avoid birds, and ignoring the gasps and cries from the people below as they see him. The air feels so good rushing on his wings, caressing their battered forms. Spotting his destination, he lands. The old apartment where he used to live. Most of it has been cleaned out, but some of his stuff remains. It’ll be a good place to crash while he sets up his plan to kill Batman.
“Kill him first,” The Seraph hisses into his mind, “Before he kills you.” Edward frowns, and shakes his head.
“Batman doesn’t kill.” He argues.
“The Emissary of Hell does.”
“I don’t care. I may be the Emissary of Heaven, but I’m no angel,” He groans, “I don’t care about your holy war. We’ve been over this. I’ll kill him for my own good. I’ll feel better once I do.”
Edward feels the Seraph makes a buzzing noise of annoyance. “Angel, do not disappoint us again.” There is a sense of finality to her tone, and he feels her presence recede. Edward shrugs, and rummages through his wardrobe until he finds what he was looking for. One of his green jackets, a Riddler jacket. He puts it on, after slicing holes for his wings. He admires his reflection in the mirror. He looks holy, but he knows he is not.
He is filthy and unworthy, no true angel. He wonders if it’s some cosmic joke of epic proportions. Him, an angel? He laughs. It’s ironic, he’s anything but pure, what an angel is supposed to be.
Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Edward moves on. He needs to appear in public, bait Batman into talking to him. His last encounter with Batman didn’t go so well, nor the one where Batman was wearing a dress and the muzzle. But he’d come around eventually! Edward knew it, he just needed to see the other man. See the other man from a distance, Edward decides. He’s good with rifles, maybe he can snipe Batman from the roof of a building.
He ignores the strange feeling creeping up his spine, and the voice telling him that he shouldn't do it. Edward sighs, he needs to kill Batman. He needs to. But that week with him, leaving his letters and clues across the city, was the best week of his life. Batman is everything Edward has ever wanted, and everything that he can’t have. He needs to kill Batman, and at the same time, he can’t. He wants him. He needs him.
Edward stands to dig out the phone he kept buried under floorboards. It takes some time to pry the nails open, but he does it. He plugs it into the wall, and waits for it to charge.
After about an hour, he checks on the percentage. One hundred. He unplugs it, and moves to his bed to use it.
‘Emissary bond’ He types into Google, tring to remember where he heard that phrase. The first couple things are from television shows, but as he scrolls down farther, he finds a site that seems legit. ‘An Emissary Bond is formed when the two Emissaries touch skin,’ it reads. ‘It is only broken by killing the other. The longer it lasts, the more prevalent the effects are.’
“What effects?” Edward asks out loud, and keeps scrolling. ‘The Bond will allow the Emissary to track down their counterpart, and feel each other's emotions.’ It reads. ‘If sustained, they may even be able to hear each other’s thoughts.’
Edward glares at the screen, and turns it off. A chill runs through him, and the Seraph is back.
“Emissary. Find him, for I have opened the door. Find him, and kill him.” Her presence is intrusive, but Edward feels something else lurking. He closes his eyes, and drives into the ocean of his thoughts. Searching blindly, he stumbles across a feeling. He feels safe, and determined. But Edward doesn't feel either of those things, so he keeps digging in that area, until he sees a blink of light.
He opens his eyes and stumbles back, blinking rapidly. Somehow he knows that Batman is exiting a tunnel and flying into the air, heading towards the GCPD. Edward grits his teeth. He needs to get there before Batman does.
He puts the phone back, and nails the board back down. Grabs his rifle. One last look into the mirror. He looks fine, full Riddler regalia, minus the plastic wrap.
He walks up the stairs to the roof, and takes flight. He spots a dark form streaking through the sky, and he flies up to avoid being spotted. He follows Batman’s path, right to the GCPD where the man lands. Edward lands on the roof, looking down the skylight into the building.
Batman enters the building, and says something that Edward can’t hear. Edward lays down, and positions his rifle. He takes aim, his target talking with Commissioner Gordon. He lightly traces the trigger with his finger. He doesn't pull it, but he hears a bang anyways.
/
Bat is talking to Gordon when he hears the gunshot. He immediately looks up to the skylight, which is where the sound came from. Bat flaps his wings, ascending off the ground and flying up to it. He sees blood painting the glass, and he pulls open the hatch, squeezing through it. He sees a man in a green jacket with light brown hair covering his face, holding a rifle. His right leg has been shot, and a police officer with his gun trained on the man.
“Don’t move, or I will shoot.” The officer says. The man lifts his face, revealing a green mask. Bat freezes. Riddler.
Riddler takes the opportunity to release his wings, and shoots up into the air, aims his rifle and puts a bullet between the officers eyes.
He rounds on Bat, eyes wild behind the mask.
“I’m going to kill you now.” His voice is soft, a little unsure. His finger twitches on the trigger but he doesn't pull it. They stay like that for a while, staring at one another.
Bat feels the urge to lunge at Riddler, but he pushes it down, and makes eye contact with Riddler.
“Kill him.” The Hellspawn says, but Bruce discreetly shakes his head. Riddler lands on the ground again, and takes a step backwards. And another, and another, until he’s at the edge of the building. He puts the rifle down and unclips the mask from his face. Then, with a powerful flap of his wings, he takes off. Bat gives chase, and they fly, Riddler just barely soaring ahead, wings beating soundlessly.
Riddler takes a nosedive into an alleyway, and lands awkwardly. Bat lands gracefully. They face off in the alleyway until Riddler speaks.
“I don’t think I’m going to kill you,” He begins, voice wavering. “You’re too beautiful.” Bat blinks at him, and Riddler smiles. “Your mind, your determination, your ideals. I’ve done my part in the revolution, I’ve toppled the government of Gotham, and helped the people. But you? You have so much to do,” He breathes, “I can’t kill you. We’re partners. You’re my equal, my other half.”
Bat frowns in disgust, and narrows his eyes. He strides forward, and pushes Riddler back, poking at his injured shoulder. A feeling of glee rises when Riddler makes a pained noise.
“We aren’t partners. You have helped no one, there is no revolution. You’re insane.” But as he says the words, they sound hollow, even to his own ears. Riddler keeps smiling at him.
“Emissary…” The garbled voice of The Hellspawn hisses, “Kill.” But he doesn't move. He just stares at Riddler.
/
The bullet in his shoulder throbs, but Edward doesn’t care. He’s come to a realization. He doesn't want to kill Batman. Batman dismisses him with hollow words that he doesn’t even believe.
“What are you doing?” The Seraph growls, her voice no longer friendly. “Kill him, or else.” Edward ignores her, and takes an experimental step forward. He places his hand on Batman’s chest, feeling his racing heartbeat. Batman tenses, but doesn't pull away.
“Please.” Edward whispers to himself. “I need this.” And Edward moves forward, baring his neck to the other man.
In the next moment, everything changes. Edward wraps his arms around Batman’s neck, pulling him into a kiss.
At first, it’s like kissing a statue, but then, Batman slams Edward into the wall, pinning him down, and returns the kiss with a frightening fury and need.
“We can’t,” Batman breathes into Edward’s mouth, “I can’t.” But he doesn’t pull away, he keeps kissing Edward harder and harder. Edward squirms in his grasp, feeling so very alive.
He gasps as Batman pulls away, panting for air.
“I will not warn you again.” Seraph's voice is hard, devoid of emotion. “Kill him. Now.” And Edward can’t do it, so he shakes his head, and leans into Batman's chest.
“I won’t kill him,” He mutters, not sure if it’s out loud or in his head. “I choose mercy.”
The static in his head is suddenly deafening, he can't think of anything other than the man in front of him. His vision goes red, and he sees no more.
/
Bat lets the hand stay on his chest. It’s warm, and small, and something worth protecting.
“Please,” Riddler whispers, “I need this.” He steps closer, and looks up at Bat, neck bared for him. Then arms are encircling Bat, and lips are on his lips. He tentatively stands still, unable to move or think. Then, a rush of anger and lust rolls through his body, and Bat pushes Riddler’s back into the wall, kissing him hard.
In that moment, Riddler isn’t a terrorist, and Bat isn’t a vigilante. They aren’t Emissaries on the opposite sides of an eternal war, they’re just two people in an alleyway.
“Kill him now. I won’t tell you twice,” Hellspawn says. “Kill him, or suffer the consequences.”
Bat pulls back to breathe, and he hears Riddler say something.
“I won’t kill him, I choose mercy.” Bat hears the words, and something akin to shock courses through him. He nods, his decision made, mirroring Riddler’s.
As soon as he nods, the buzzing of Hellspawn grows to a crescendo of noise. He can’t think straight. His vision goes red, and he feels himself fall.
/
Blessed silence fills Edward’s ears. He opens his eyes. He is laying in a field of red poppies, with a red sky and a red river running through it. He sits up, and across from him is a naked man. Edward frowns as he looks down at his own naked body, the bullet wound is his shoulder no more.
The man opens his eyes, and he looks so very familiar. His eyes are intense, seemingly shocked as he surveys Edward’s body. Edward tries to cover himself, not wanting this man to know his birth sex. But he has already seen it, and Edward sighs, standing up on unstable feet.
The man mirrors his actions, and purposefully walks over to Edward. Once he comes closer, everything changes as Edward identifies him. Bruce Wayne.
Why is Edward here? Why is Bruce Wayne here with him? Bruce seems to have come to a realization, looking horrified.
“Why are you here?” Edward asks, voice low and growling. “I tried to kill you. I hurt your butler. Is that why you're here? Am I hallucinating? I was with Batman, and—” Edward cuts himself off and looks at Bruce Wayne, really looks. Edward approaches him, and puts his hand over the man’s eyes.
“Batman.” He whispers. Bruce, no, Batman looks away as Edward’s breathing picks up. “No, no, no, no! It can’t be you! I, I, hate you! Bruce Wanye is a horrible sack of shit, Batman is a hero! You can’t be him! It isn’t fair!” He yells the last part into Batman’s face. “Please, this has to be a dream. Please, Seraph, I’m sorry, I’ll kill him! Just give me something!”
“You changed your mind.” It wasn't a question, it was a statement. Edward snarls into Batman’s face and nods. Bruce adds, “I haven’t.”
Edward cocks his head. “You’re not going to kill me.” Bruce shakes his head, and Edward sighs. “Why not? I mean, I’m a horrible person. Or, Emissary, rather. I… I don’t think I deserve to live.”
“I don’t kill.” His voice is flat, but Edward believes him. “Even if that’s true, I… Don’t think I could, even if I wanted to. I need to talk to you.” Edward frowns.
“About what?” He asks, trying not to sound interested. Batman seems to relax, and sits down on the ground. Edward joins him.
“I need someone who won’t judge me, and someone who can understand what I’m going through…” He says, and Edward nods, unsure. “I think something is wrong with me, Alfred said that there isn’t but I just feel so weird.” He sighs and looks into the cloudless red sky. “I like wearing dresses. They feel right on me. I don’t feel right with my body,” He gestures towards his genitals. “And I saw that you… Well, I thought you could understand.”
Edward takes a moment to process, but he nods at the vigilante in front of him. “So you think you’re like me? Trans?”
“I don’t really know if I’m a girl, though.”
“That’s okay. Look, if we’re going to continue this conversation, I want a truce. Everything said and done here, we won’t use against each other.” The vigilante nods. “Okay, well, I’m just going to talk about my transition and if that helps, let me know.” Edward feels vulnerable and stupid, but when he looks at Batman’s face, he feels motivated to continue. “I was born a girl. I realized I wasn’t a girl when I was pretty young, but it took me a long time to go on hormones. I didn’t have money, and I was raised in a Catholic orphanage, so no one there really condoned it. But then I got out. I got a job, and some money. I was able to sign the forms and get on T, even though I can’t afford to consistently take it. I never got enough money to get top surgery, though.” he pauses.
“But the big thing wasn’t the physical changes in puberty. It was the feelings, the lack of belonging and the emptiness that clued me in. I don’t know if it helps, but it takes a while to figure it out, but once I did, I was happy. For a little while, then my health spiraled again, and boom.” Edward makes an exploding noise, and mimes one with his hands. “I gained awareness of the filth and rot in Gotham City. I had to help clean it up. But it didn’t work. I killed a lot of people with that flood.”
“Do you feel guilty?” Batman asks, his voice sincere.
Edward thinks for a minute. “About some of it, yeah. But some parts felt so good.” He shakes his head. “Anyways. Did that help at all?”
“Yeah. I mean, it’s good to know I’m not the only one who’s trans, I guess. If I’m trans, that is. I’m not a woman, but I’m not a guy either.”
“I mean, people like that exist. Some use they/them pronouns, change their names. Some go on Estrogen or Testosterone, some don’t.”
Bruce frowns. “Can you call me Bat? Instead of Batman. Or Bruce. I don’t really know about pronouns yet.”
“Okay, Bat.”
They sit in silence for a while after. It’s a strange and beautiful sight, the field of blood red poppies and the crimson river, framed by a sunless sky.
/
According to Edward, they’ve been in the Red Purgatory for a whole week. They decided to call it Red Purgatory, for the color and the lack of activity. Edward has been counting the hours, and then the days.
Both of them have noticed a lack of need to eat, or use the bathroom. Edward says that it’s a good thing, since they can’t find any food, and neither wants to drink the red water.
They’ve bonded since the talk about gender. They still dance around the fact that Edward is the Riddler, and the whole Emissary business. But they talk, and for that, Bat is grateful. It would be unbearable if they didn’t talk.
“Hey, Bat!” Bat is drawn out of his reverie by Edward’s voice. “Come over here.” Edward has his wings out, and is waving at him. Bat walks over.
“I think we should move. Like, try to find another place. It can’t be poppies forever. We’ll follow the river.” Bat mules it over in his head. It’s a good enough idea, he decides.
“Yeah. You lead the way.” He sprouts his wings, and takes off after Edward.
After about two hours, Bat spots a mountain. It’s covered in trees, and rises so high up that neither Emissary can see the top. They land on a flat part with a cave about halfway up. The stone is red, the trees are red, and the poppies are where grass should be. It’s perfect, Bat thinks. He looks over to Edward, who seems to be thinking something similar.
After a while, Bat and Edward form a plan. They’ll work on using sharp rocks as tools, and making better tools with those. They can make some sort of shelter.
/
The first day of work at the mountain is grueling. The second is worse, but the third is better. By the dawn of the thirtieth day in Red Purgatory, they have a solid shelter and a routine. They have a good sleep cycle, where they sleep for eight hours and are awake for the other sixteen,and a good work ethic. On the fifteenth day, they had found an animal that resembled a sheep in the darkness of the cave. Since they have no use for the meat, they sheared the animal and kept her as a pet. Edward has a simple shirt and trousers, and Bat has a dress with a tie in the middle.
But on that thirtieth day, Edward finally broke down.
“I’m sorry.” The words are spoken quietly, so quiet that Bat nearly missed them. He turns to Edward and frowns.
“What for?”
“Gotham.” His voice wavers. “I… after spending time here, with you, I guess I realized I made a mistake. I’m sorry.”
Bat knows that Edward is trying, but hearing him refer to the acts of terrorism and crime he caused as a ‘mistake’ sets him off.
“You killed a lot of people. That was planned. That was no mistake.” His voice cuts through the red clearing. “Don’t try to manipulate me.” Bat shakes his head. He’d gotten so caught up in this domestic little life that they’d built, that he’d forgotten Edward was a monster.
“But I am sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing, I was helping people–”
“You killed people.”
“So many people! You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t hear their screams in my head, their begging? I was so high on my power trip that I forgot my goal.” He sinks to his knees. “I wanted to help people. And yet, I hurt so many. But that’s not even the worst part. I liked it. Every second of it, it was enjoyable. I think back, and logically I know I should feel guilt, but I don’t! I liked killing them, I liked the pain I caused.” His voice wavers. “I’m just like them. The priest who raped me, the nuns who abused me, my parents who gave me away, even the men with their empty promises of Renewal. I’m… not a good person.” His voice had stopped shaking by now.
“I just want it all to be over.” He says. “I’m tired, and I’m sorry.” With that, he stands, and shoots up into the air, mighty wings flapping.
Bat watches him go. He didn’t know much about Edward’s childhood, other than it hadn’t been very good. And as Edward revealed more and more about himself, the more sense it made. The obsessive need for attention, the violent and controlling urges, the pain and nightmares he would experience. Edward wasn’t born a monster. He was a child, and he’d been hurt. Edward wasn’t beyond saving.
“No, Edward. I’m sorry.” He says, watching the Emissaries receding form. The turmoil in his head is too much, and he knows he has to decide what to do. Should he show Edward mercy, only for Edward to kill him in return? Should he kill Edward? Bat knew that killing was against everything Batman ever stood for, but this wasn't Gotham anymore. And he wasn’t Batman.
He calls out for Hellspawn, and to his shock, Hellspawn answers with a loud noise in his head, so loud that Bat can’t hear himself think.
“You have made your choice?” A man’s body floats behind him, made of pure shadow. Bat grimaces, and looks at Edward’s form.
“Yes. I have.”
/
Edward crash lands into the poppy field where he and Bat first woke up. He sighs, and knows he has to make a choice. Kill Bat, or let Bat kill him. Or, of course, his mysterious third option. It’s really not a hard decision, and he looks at the sky, hoping that Bat will appear.
“Seraph, please. I’ve made my choice.” A shining light in his head, static explodes around him, and in front of him, there is a floating woman made of pure light.
“Emissary will fight?” She asks.
Something like that.” Edward says, and turns his eyes to the sky. Sure enough, Bat’s form can be seen in the distance, barreling towards him.
He doesn’t have to wait very long for Bat to arrive. He executes a perfect landing, a male form made of shadow descending behind him. Edward glances over at Seraph, who floats behind his own back.
“Hello, Demon.” Edward says, channeling his best Riddler voice. Bat is unimpressed.
“Hello, Angel.” Bat’s voice is deep, almost a growl. An unidentifiable emotion is coursing through Edward’s veins, preparing him for battle.
Bat makes the first move, running straight at Edward, who feints left. Bat doesn't fall, he’s able to keep his balance, much to Edward’s dismay. Edward isn’t very good in a fight, but he does what he can. Which evidently isn't enough, because within a second, Edward is pinned to the ground, Bat above him with a strange look on his face.
Edward makes a show of baring his neck, and as Bat raises his fist with a rock in hand, ready to bludgeon Edward to death.
“I love you.” He whispers, smiling at the confusion on his opponent’s face. He takes that second on hesitation to bite Bat’s neck as hard as he can, going for the jugular vein.
The shock and pain on Bat’s face hurts too much, and Edward tries to push Bat off of him. Bat uses his last bit of strength to bring the rock down on his face, and his vision explodes with red flashes of pain.
/
Bat drops the rock, and presses his hands to his neck, trying to stop the bleeding. He can’t. He hates himself for what he just did, he hates Edwards for what he said. He sees Edward’s body writhe a little before going completely still. He feels faint and lightheaded, and it all goes red.
But then he opens his eyes, and he’s at the shelter on the mountain again. Edward sits across from him, skin unblemished. Bat gropes his neck, feeling no hole or blood.
“Oh my God. You’re alive,” Edward says, ignoring Bat’s warning snarl, “Oh, you're alive!” He launches himself across the clearing to Bat, and wraps his arms around him. “I knew it would work!”
“What.” Bat’s voice comes off full of rage, and he doesn't care. “What are you talking about?”
Edward points at his shoulder. “My bullet wound.” And then Bat understands, it’s so perfectly clear. Edward knew that couldn't die in his dimension, or at least had a hunch. He voices his thoughts to Edward who nods eagerly.
“I had to make it convincing, so the Seraph, and uh, your guy, would leave us alone. I think they put us here.” He says, voice excited.
“But why? What are we supposed to do?” Bat asks, any harsh tone melted away.
“I don’t know. They said it was some kind of punishment, or like, time out, I guess. They want us to kill each other. And we did!”
“Wait, but why are we still here? Shouldn't we be in Heaven, or Hell?”
Edward smiles, and Bat knows he has an ace up his sleeve. “We control this dimension, to some degree. I don’t think that they intended for us to find that out.” Bat looks at Edward skeptically. “Okay, well, remember when we wanted trees? Suddenly there were trees. When we wanted shelter? A mountain with a cave. Clothing? A really weird looking sheep.” He holds out his hand and an apple appears in it. Bat blinks at the apple. He holds his own hand out, and thinks of his sunglasses. They appear in his hand, perfectly the same, except for being the color red. Edward is smiling at him, and Bat realizes that he doesn’t hate Edward anymore.
He might even love Edward, he thinks, as he strides forward to kiss the smaller man.
/
Bat walks up to Edward, and kisses him. The vigilantes lips are soft, and the kiss is gentle, unlike the first kiss in the alleyway. Edward opens his mouth wider to let Bat in. They pull apart, and Bat’s eyes are shining.
“Once we leave here, we’re going to get you help.” Bat says. “I won’t let them lock you away. You need therapy though, so don’t argue about that.”
“How romantic!” Edward says, but he’s smiling. “That sounds really nice.” He leans in for another kiss, this time a little more desperate.
They pull apart again, so Edward can pull his pants off, and so Bat can hike up his skirt. They collapse onto the soft ground, Edward laying on his back with Bat’s weight a comforting presence above him. Edward positions himself in such a way that his legs wrap around Bat’s back, almost cradling him.
“Are you ready?” Bat asks, lining himself up with Edward’s opening. Edward nods, and closes his eyes.
“Yeah.”
The feeling is indescribable, and Edward has never felt more complete than with Bat inside of him. The two Emissaries move as one, panting and whispering “I love you,” to each other as they fuck.
It’s the best orgasm Edward has ever had, and he tells Bat, who responds with, “I just have a way with vagin–” But Edward cuts him off before he can say anything else.
They lay on the ground and stare at the red sky.
“Are you ready to go home?” Edward asks.
“Not really, but we have to.” Bat says.
/
The Red Purgatory fades away as quickly as it had come on, leaving Bat and Edward standing in an alleyway, Bat in the Batsuit, Edward dressed as Riddler still.
Everything looks exactly how they left it. Two enemies in an alleyway at dusk. But so much has changed, so much has happened. Edward sighs, the bullet still in his shoulder.
“Well, we can’t go to the hospital.” Edward breaks the silence, as he hates the hospital. Bat thinks for a second, and then nods.
“Follow me, I can stitch you up at home.” He says, taking off into the air.
“Home?” Edward asks. “We’re going to Wayne Manor?” He launches himself into the sky after Bat. Bat slows down, and they land on a rooftop.
“Yeah, unless that will be triggering?” Bat questions Edward, completely serious. Edward fiddles with his gloves before answering.
“No. I’ll be fine. But it will be a little crazy, like, facing proof that you really are Bruce Wayne.” He cracks a smile, and Bat nods, satisfied.
Wayne Manor isn’t far away, and they land on a balcony soon enough. It’s the balcony of Bat’s penthouse bedroom. Edward’s eyes go huge when he sees the bed.
“Good God, you really are that rich. That’s a fucking giant bed.” Bat laughs, Edward walks over and lays in the bed, peeling his jacket and shirt off. Bat examines the wound.
“Yeah, you definitely need stitches. Good thing I keep a med kit in my bedroom.” He grabs the medkit from under his giant bed.
Edward has a remarkably high pain tolerance, so it goes very smoothly. Once Edward’s shoulder is all stitched up, Bat joins him in bed. They lay cuddled up against one another, basking in the other’s presence.
They’ve been in bed for about an hour when Edward breaks the silence.
“I’m hungry. What rich people food do you have?” He asks, only half joking. Bat smiles and gets up.
“I’ll show you, c’mon.” Bat motions for Edward to follow him. They take the stairs down to the kitchen, where Alfred appears out of nowhere.
“Master Bat! I was so worried, I heard about the shooting at the GCPD! Good thing you’re here, and–” He locks eyes with Edward. “Master Bat, what is he doing here?” Edward winces and steps behind Bat.
“Alfred, we’re good,” Bat says, “We just spent the past month in another dimension together, we’re going to help him and get therapy. He’s okay, trust me.”
“You what?” Alfred is dumbfounded, but quickly gathers his bearings. “Alright, Master Bat. Is there anything I can get you two?”
“Food, uh, some food would be nice.” Edward says, and grimaces at the withering glare Alfred sends his way.
“Coming right up.” Alfred’s tone is very passive-aggressive. The three sit in silence while Alfred makes dinner. Once he’s finished making it they sit at the table together, and eat in silence. They finish, and Edward offers to help clean the kitchen. Alfred seems shocked, but appreciative.
“Yes, that would actually be lovely.” He says, looking at Edward as if he’d grown a second head.
Bat waits downstairs in the Batcave for Edward to finish. Soon enough, Edward is coming down the stairs, a smile on his face.
“I think I’m growing on Alfred,” Edward says, smiling at Bat. “He told me he’d kill me if I ever hurt you. I guess we don’t tell him about the whole ‘killing each other’ thing?”
Bat smiles back at Edward. “Good plan.” Bat motions Edward over to the chair next to him. “I’ve been thinking about when you asked me for my pronouns. I think I want to try using they/them pronouns.”
“Okay, cool. I have the best partner.” Edward says. “Can I call you my partner now?” Bat grins and nods.
“Yeah. Also, can we talk about some stuff?” They ask. Edward nods. “I have this meeting with the press tomorrow about you, and I have to go as Bruce Wayne, and probably condemn you. I… I don’t want to. I hate being Bruce Wayne, he’s just not who I am. I hate lying to the people of Gotham. I’m going to pretend to be Bruce Wayne for them, but I can’t lie to them about you. I can’t tell them you’re a horrible person, and that you deserve the death penalty.”
“Wait, but I am a horrible person…” Edward interrupts, “I did some horrible things.”
“Yeah, you did do horrible things. But you had the best interests of this city in your heart, and doing those horrible things didn’t automatically make you a horrible person. You fucked up, but you deserve a second chance, not the death penalty. And that’s what I’m going to tell Gotham tomorrow. Also, it couldn't hurt to mention that you’re literally the Emissary of Heaven.” Bat finishes their speech, and looks to Edward for approval.
“I don’t want you to sacrifice your reputation.” Edward says hesitantly. “I can’t let you do that.” Bat frowns.
“It’s my choice, Ed. I want to. I don’t care about my, well, Bruce Wayne’s reputation. I mean, wasn't it you who dragged it through the mud those months ago?” They joke. Edward laughs, and sighs.
“Okay. I… I love you, Bat.”
“I love you too, Ed.”