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maccreadysbaby · 2 months

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A Hundred Ways to Become a Wayne

batfamily + oc insert

tw: death and gore

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

he’s gonna get home soon I promise :,) also the end of this chapter makes me SQUEEEAAALLLL

part thirty

❝ ASPHYXIATION ❞

MONDAY — AUGUST 17 — 9:52PM

BENTLEY ONLY STEPPED OUT OF THE ROOM WHEN DAVIS MADE A HIGH-PITCHED WHISTLE.

He grabbed Davis’s other metal glove off the white tile floor and, upon stepping into the hall, was met by a spread of half a dozen bodies. Three men with lab coats, three men with armored jumpsuits and guns, all laying, unresponsive, with black crawling beneath their skin. Davis was standing right in the middle.

Bentley had never seen so many people… die.

“Stay close. This whole hallway has Synchronizing rooms on it, so we’ll have to check them all,” Davis ordered. Bentley followed behind and said nothing as they approached a metal door, right across from the room he’d been in.

The hallway was almost endless in both directions; so long and bright and white that Bentley got a little dizzy when he looked down it. They were never going to find them, were they?

Davis retracted a keycard from his pocket — one he’d stolen off a guard, maybe? — and tapped it on a little blue light next to the door. The light turned green, there was a click, and the metal door slid open.

The room was just like his own, with nothing inside but a solid white Synchronizer. Davis made for the control panel next to it, and Bentley stayed near the door, looking down the long, white hallways. At the pile of men laying in it, skin turning black.

Asten and Nico could be in any room. What if they didn’t get to them in time? What if they already had superpowers? Or mind control devices put in them?

Davis messed around with the keypad for a few grueling moments, during which Bentley stared nervously down the hall for more guards to appear. Suddenly, there was a click and a hiss, and a girl came tumbling out of the Synchronizer in a hospital gown that matched theirs, landing on her hands and knees on the floor. She was older — probably Davis’s age, with bright red hair kinda like Bentley’s, heaving for breath.

“Exchange incomplete. Please return subject to Synchronizer,”

The girl disappeared.

But she was still there, Bentley could hear her breathing. She was just… invisible.

Davis left the room without a word to her, careful to keep his hands far from Bentley as he passed him in the doorway. “C’mon.”

Bentley glanced at him, then looked back into the room, at the girl he couldn’t see. “You’re just going to leave her?”

“Your friends have timers on their heads,” Davis said, running a black hand through his hair. His green eyes were shining with something like remorse, despair, maybe rage somewhere deep in them. “We don’t have time to save everyone.”

Bentley spent a few more seconds looking in the direction of the invisible girl. She was invisible, so maybe she’d be able to escape on her own, right?

That’s what he settled on, anyways, because Davis trailed back into the hallway and he had to follow him. But as soon as he crossed the threshold into the hall-

BANG!

Bentley cried out when he heard the deafening boom of a gun. There were more men in the hallway now, four of them in their white security suits coming from the left, with guns trained on the pair. They were standing near the pile of men Davis had already killed.

Bentley was being shot at.

Davis opened the door to the next Synchronizing room and Bentley ran inside without a second thought, Davis ducking in right after. Deafening and horrible gunshots kept coming, BANG! BANG! BANG! Even though the guards didn’t have anything to aim for anymore.

Why was it when Bentley and Davis were together, there were always people with guns?

“Go open the Synchronizer. I’ll handle these guys,” Davis ordered. “There’s an emergency eject button — you can’t miss it.”

Bentley nodded quickly, scanning the identical room before shuffling over to the glowing control panel next to the Synchronizer. There were so many buttons, each glowing a slightly different color with words and abbreviations on top. He let Davis’s metal gloves clatter onto the floor and lifted his hands, trying to find the button Davis had spoken about. Emergency Eject was what he said.

The door to the room slid open with a beep. Bentley turned just in time to flinch when a guard rounded the corner pistol-first and pulled the trigger blindly, the bullet clanging dangerously against the back wall. He saw Davis reach over and grab the guy by the neck, black spreading there.

“Bentley!” He barely managed to hear Davis’s shout over the ringing in his ears.

The child took that as a queue for him to hurry, so he focused back on the control panel, his heartbeat and adrenaline pumping in his ears with heavy, loud pulses. He finally spotted a red button in the very top corner labeled EJECT. So he slammed his fist down on it.

And his entire arm lit on fire.

The thud from the second guard hitting the floor came at the same time a boy with black hair thudded out of the Synchronizer. Probably, like, Tim’s age. Bentley couldn’t tell. Why was his arm burning?

“Exchange incomplete. Please return subject to synchronizer,”

Bentley glanced down, and his vision swam.

Red. So much red. All over his arm, dripping down his fingertips and making dots on the floor. His white gown was turning red from his right shoulder down. There was a little blood spattered across the room, on the wall, near a skid mark left by a bullet. Bentley blinked, mind blank.

There was no way. Surely it would’ve hurt so much worse… there was no way he wouldn’t have noticed, if he’d gotten…

There was blood all over him, and his arm was on fire. Davis hadn’t yelled at him because he needed him to hurry. He’d yelled at him because…

Because Bentley…

…had been shot.

The realization made him sway on his feet, and he ended up against the control panel as Davis struck down the final two guards with only a finger, his vision swirling with red that he was trying so hard not to look at. There was no way. There was no way.

“Davis…?”

Bentley saw people moving — the black haired boy ran out of the room, Davis ran all the way in — but he was having trouble seeing through all the blood. The frantic click, click, click, click, click of Davis putting his gloves back on pierced the air. It was really cold in the room. Like, ice cold, but Bentley’s arm was so, so hot.

He stood, somewhat in disbelief. There was no way. Why didn’t it hurt worse? Why was he just hot?

“He shot me,” Bentley said as Davis’s face came back into focus, near to his own. Why didn’t it hurt worse? Davis was kneeling in front of him, fastening his gloves.

“He shot me,” He whispered, more to himself than Davis. Forcing himself to realize what had happened, that he wasn’t dreaming or hallucinating. He looked down at the red drenching his white hospital gown, blinking rapidly as the burn in his arm seemed to extend to his eyes. “He shot me!”

“It’s okay,” Davis replied, bringing his hands up to the hem of Bentley’s hospital gown and tearing a strip off of the bottom with his metal gloves. “It’s okay… You’ll be okay. The bullet went all the way through. That’s good.”

Oh my God. A bullet went through his shoulder. A bullet went through his shoulder.

Black dots started to come and dance in Bentley’s vision, and it became increasingly difficult to keep himself upright. He could feel Davis messing with his shoulder, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at it. All he was looking at was the many droplets of blood peppering the floor. At his own crimson fingers.

He’d been shot by a gun.

As the realization finally seemed to click into place — that Bentley had actually, literally, seriously been shot by a gun — the pain hit him like a semi-truck. Like his whole arm had been ripped off, hacked off one grueling chop at a time by a hatchet.

There was so much pain and so much blood and so much red and he couldn’t see and he couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t think and… everything started turning black.

“No, no, hey, don’t faint. We don’t have time for you to faint,” There was a gloved hand on the back of his head, keeping him from falling over, and his vision swam back to life just as quickly as it had gone. “You’re fine. You’re okay. No need to faint. It’s not that bad. It’s scary, but it’s not that bad. You’re okay.”

There was what felt like a tug on his injured arm, and a glance over revealed that the strip of hospital gown fabric had been tied there like a makeshift bandage. Red was already staining it, seeping through it.

Bentley breathed in, and the exhale mixed with the searing agony made him nauseous. He was pretty sure he was dying. “I-I want to go home.”

“I know. I know you do,”

He instinctively tried to cover his face, but he couldn’t. It shot pain all the way up his arm and into the rest of his body like a firework, burning agony ripping through all of his muscles and veins. A sound that reminded him vaguely of a puppy worked it’s way out of him, and boiling tears sprung up in his eyes at the pain.

“It hurts,” Bentley cried, the hot tears streaming down his face before he could even think about stopping them. The pain was making his legs seem weak, and like some childish instinct, he reached for the man in front of him. “It hurts, Davis. It hurts so bad…”

“I know. I know,” Davis repeated, his eyes bridging the gap between worried and all-out panicked as they flicked across all the red in the white room. “I’ve gotcha. I’ve gotcha.”

Bentley was suddenly gathered up in Davis’s arms when the latter stood, which was fine, because he wasn’t sure how much longer his legs would last. “Just… I just need you to keep talking to me. We’ll find your friends. We’ll get through this.”

Davis was holding Bentley bridal style, and his injured — shot — right shoulder was now bleeding on the older boy’s gown. He didn’t seem to care, and that was good. Bentley choked down a few sobs at the searing pain that came with being moved, laying his forehead against Davis’s shoulder. “It hurts so bad.”

“I know it does, buddy. I know. Just… just talk to me about something. About your home. You live in Wayne Manor, right? Why don’t you tell me about all your siblings?” Davis questioned. Bentley could feel him moving, but didn’t look up.

“Uh…” He started, hiccuping lightly, using his uninjured hand to grab onto the front of Davis’s gown. “Davis, I can’t-“

“Yes, you can. Go ahead. I’m listening,”

“Uh… Damian… is the youngest,” He forced out, trying to bring his knees up even though he wasn’t really moving all that much. “He’s still older than me. And he… likes animals. A lot.”

Bentley felt air rushing at him, and the subtle ups and downs of Davis’s footsteps. “He has a big dog.”

Davis inhaled. “Oh, yeah? What’s it's name?”

“Titus,”

“Titus is a good name for a big dog,” He commented.

“Yeah. He… got sick last year,” Bentley explained quietly, trying to push away the fiery pulsing in his arm. (It was kind of hard to push it away when it felt like he had lava instead of blood.) He exhaled heavily, shakily, and it tapered off into a few soft cries. “Davis, it hurts.”

There was a beep of a door opening. “Keep talking to me, bud. Is Titus okay now?”

“Mhm,” Bentley muttered, his fingertips and bare toes growing such an icy cold that it hurt a little bit. “I’m getting cold.”

“Who’s the next oldest? After Damian?”

Bentley found himself shivering as air wafted past him again. “Duke. He drives me to school. He… is graduating. This year… I think.”

There was a sound, like Davis tapping something with his metal glove. The hiss and beep of a Synchronizer came.

“Exchange incomplete. Please return subject to Synchronizer,”

Bentley looked up, just quick enough to see a…

Blonde girl.

“We’re not going to find them fast enough,” He whined, putting his face back where it was with a trio of bitter sobs. “I’m so dumb. If… If I wouldn’t have-”

“We will find them,” Davis reassured, cutting the child off mid-sentence. “Who comes after Duke?”

Bentley breathed in, biting his lip to stifle a few more cries. The pain was subsiding the slightest, slightest bit… being replaced by a foggy, empty feeling like he felt after waking up in the hospital. “Um… Steph? Or Tim? I-I can’t remember. I don’t feel good.”

Davis’s thumb moved in circles on his back, and the strange sensation of air blowing as he walked returned. “How old are they?”

“Uh… both… eighteen. No, wait, nineteen. Maybe,” It was getting way too hard for Bentley to think. Why couldn’t he remember how old Tim was? “I’m… tired.”

“No, no. Keep going. C’mon, you’re okay,”

Bentley shivered. “Tim is… sick. Right now. He likes… computers. And Steph likes purple. She made me a sweater… last Christmas. Am I going to die?”

“What? No!” Davis shook Bentley the slightest bit, and the child winced from the pain it caused. “Who’s next?”

There was a beep — a door lock. “Cass. She… uh… taught me ASL,” Bentley explained, fighting away the fog that was threatening to take over and make it impossible to stay awake. “She doesn’t talk much. And then comes… uh…”

Then comes Jason.

Bentley bit his lip again, his shoulders shaking with a few quiet sobs as the scene from the Synchronizer returned to his mind. Robin. The Joker. “Then Jason…” He let go of Davis’s gown to bring a hand to his mouth, in an attempt to quiet his cries. “Jason… I miss him… so much.”

“You’ll be home soon,” Davis replied. A beep and a hiss came, and Bentley looked up, watching the Synchronizer they were beside open up. Vapor plumed out, dancing across the floor, and the metal clasps on the inside opened. Someone fell out, thumping on their hands and knees.

Someone with blue hair.

Bentley abandoned all rational thought, squirming in Davis’s arms with a sudden: “Asten!”

Thankfully, Davis didn’t drop him — because moving that much hurt so bad that Bentley got lightheaded. He blinked until it faded, and Davis slowly put him down on his feet, gloved hands hovering nearby, just in case.

Bentley went a solid two steps and then dropped to his knees next to Asten, bringing his arms up and around the Brazilian’s shoulders no matter how much fire it sent rippling through his bones. He kept crying — maybe from fear, maybe from pain, maybe from relief, maybe from everything.

Asten was…

He was crying, too.

He was on his hands and knees, trembling like he’d been dipped in a freezing cold lake. He was wearing the exact same white Hospital gown everyone wore. His shoulders were shaking the lightest bit, and without even looking up, he leaned into his friend with a soft: “Bentley…”

It was quiet and plagued with a kind of pain Bentley didn’t even know how to decipher.

“Asten,” He replied near-inaudibly, bringing his uninjured hand up to hold Asten’s head closer to him. He tried his best to keep the searing agony out of his voice, for his friend’s sake, but he wasn’t sure he was doing a very good job. “It’s… okay. You’re out of that thing now.”

Asten cried, one of his hands finding Bentley’s (thankfully) un-shot arm and holding onto it tightly. “I’m so sorry.”

Bentley didn’t know what he was apologizing for, but it made him cry harder anyways. “I-It’s okay.”

Silence passed. “Your father…”

Bentley blinked. Asten and Nico always called Bruce his dad, not his father. So did that mean, when Asten was in the Synchronizer, that he saw… not Bruce, but John? Had he seen Bentley’s life before the Wayne’s?

“I couldn’t make him stop, I don’t…” Asten trailed off, dissolving into the most pitiful bout of crying Bentley had ever witnessed. Never had he ever imagined he’d see Asten like this.

Bentley choked down as much of the crying as he could. “It’s okay,” It ended up sounding very much like I’m-trying-so-hard-not-to-absolutely-sob-right-now instead.

Asten adjusted his head with a deep sniffle. “You... You… Where…? What happened?”

“Dr. Keene took us. To the place in the video. Put us… in the machine,” Bentley explained quietly. His left hand was moving in Asten’s hair without any prior thought, which was good, because he would’ve been awfully embarrassed if he’d realized he was doing it. “We have to leave.”

Asten lifted his head, and immediately, his bloodshot, green eyes tripled in size, and he choked on whatever he was going to say. Instead he suddenly jerked back, peeling Bentley’s arms away from himself and holding them off to each side. Bentley cried out at the sudden and terrible pain it caused. “You’re… covered in blood…”

“He’s going to be okay,” Davis interjected, moving toward the pair. Asten’s eyes shot up to him, then bounced around the room. The Brazilian promptly stopped crying in the presence of a stranger, and instead, looked suddenly and utterly pissed.

He sat back on his knees with a scowl, dropping Bentley’s arms. “And who the hell are you?”

Bentley winced as the momentary adrenaline of finding Asten began to wear off, sniffing. “It’s okay. He’s my friend.”

Asten looked at Bentley, then back over at Davis. “Does this mean we’re all…?”

Bentley, assuming the word missing from his question was metahumans, merely stared at him in response.

Asten looked down at himself (and his gown that now had blood on it thanks to Bentley.) and muttered: “Merda!”

Bentley was hit by a sudden wave of vertigo, and he squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to push it away. It just made him kind of nauseous. “I… don’t feel so good.”

As if his words were a queue, he was lifted back off the floor by Davis.

“What happened to him?” Asten asked, pushing himself off of the floor and wiping his face with the sleeve of his gown. Bentley wished he could do that — shove all his feelings and emotions and crying off to the side in a drop of a hat. “And where’s Nico?”

“We’re looking for him,” Davis replied with a deep breath in. “And someone… shot him. Bentley.”

Bentley hid his face away again like it was embarrassing to be shot, and they began to move into the hallway. Asten’s voice went up what seemed like a whole octave when he repeated: “Shot him?! Who in the hell?!” Bentley heard his bare footsteps pat-patting behind them.

“I don’t know. An employee here. He’s dead now,” Davis explained. There was a beep like he was unlocking another door.

“And how do you know that?” Asten pressed.

Davis huffed, a calculated exhale. “Because I killed him.”

A moment of stiff silence passed. Bentley chose not to acknowledge the fact that the guy who’s shoulder his face was buried in had killed at least three dozen people.

“Am I… a metahuman now?” Asten muttered, a little bit of something like hurt prominent in his voice. Bentley felt Davis inhale, then shrug lightly, air brushing against him as he walked.

“Maybe. Maybe not, if I got you out fast enough. I’ve watched Keene work for long enough to know that it can take seconds or days for powers to fully show up. But that’s in someone whose exchange wasn’t interrupted,” Davis explained. “My hope is that you and Bentley didn’t go through enough exchanging to fully imbed them in your DNA.”

So… that meant if they were only in the machines for a few minutes, they were still normal?

Asten cleared his throat. “And… the mind control?”

Davis adjusted Bentley’s weight against him, and the bouncing that signified walking began. “It’s the last step of the Synchronizing process. I got you out before it was implanted. Bentley, too.”

Bentley let out a breath of relief he didn’t even know he was holding onto. The absolute last thing he needed was his teacher taking control of his mind.

There was a beep and a hiss, and another Synchronizer fell open. Bentley looked up just in time to watch the subject come tumbling out of it, landing very ungracefully on their hands and knees.

Bentley didn’t comprehend the blonde hair quick enough — before he even realized who it was, Asten exclaimed: “Nico!”

Nico was downright sobbing, and it looked like he had been for a long, long time. There were tears tracks on his face, and his nose and ears were a bright red that Bentley had only seen near the bus top the other night (after he’d been crying for an hour). He had his eyes closed tight, and he was very nearly hyperventilating, in an uncomfortable sounding, wheezy kind of way.

While the thought of moving made Bentley’s shoulder throb with agony that sent him coiling up tighter, Asten didn’t waste a second throwing himself across the room to their friend. “Nico, hey, buddy, it’s me.”

Nico looked up, his eyes snapping open and struggling to focus.

“Asten?” He choked, frantically sucking in air that didn’t seem to be doing much of anything.

“Yeah — hey,” Asten continued. Without a warning, Nico lurched forward and pulled him into an extremely tight, probably painful looking embrace.

“Oh my God,” He sobbed, his hands curling up in Asten’s hospital gown just like they had to Bentley’s jacket. “Oh my God…”

“I’ve gotcha, buddy,” Asten said, patting Nico on the back stiffly. His eyes traveled around the room, bouncing here and there before they narrowed. Bentley only realized what he was looking for when Nico wheezed deeply, breaking into a string of gaspy coughs afterward.

They’d taken everything away from them, their clothes, Asten’s bag, their tools… and Nico’s inhaler.

“Merda,” Asten repeated. He began to move his hand up and down Nico’s back in a way that made Bentley miss Bruce. “Breathe through your nose.”

“Find him! Now!” Came a very sudden, very gruff shout from the hallway. So sudden that Bentley flinched, and then hissed in pain when the movement triggered a fiery ripple to move through his body. Nico gasped, loud and wheezy.

“We have to go,” Davis said, and Nico looked up at him, his eyes widening until they nearly covered his whole face. His big blue eyes flicked from Davis, to Bentley’s bloody body, to Asten, to Davis, to Bentley, to Asten.

“What happened to Bentley?!” He squeaked with a sob, falling into a coughing fit right afterward. “Where are we? What’s happening?!”

Asten grabbed his shoulders. “Hey, calm down.”

“What’s happening?!” He tried again. Bentley blinked in disbelief when Nico’s hands began to… shake. Not like, normally shake, but almost, like, vibrate. Like the night his leg was moving too fast. His hands were going back and forth so quickly Bentley could hardly see them.

Asten looked down at them. “Nico…”

“What’s happening to me?” He asked, desperately, sobbing and staring down at his own hands. “What’s wrong with me?”

Nico looked over at Bentley, and his eyes had yellow lightning dancing around in them.

“Nico!” Asten exclaimed. Nico’s hands were sparking, now, spitting the same yellow lightning that was in his eyes. It was crawling all over his skin, arcing from hand to hand with crackles that sounded deadly. He looked back down at them and started to panic, making a sound akin to a scream, coughing and wheezing and crying so badly Bentley thought he might throw up.

Dr. Keene’s voice echoed in his head: Abilities seem to grow more powerful, volatile in the presence of extreme emotional stress.

Bentley opened his mouth to speak, but a voice came before he could: “Well well well, what do we have here?”

Davis turned with Bentley in his arms, and there were men, six — no, eight — standing in the doorway. All with guns. All aiming at one of them. These guards had helmets on and thicker armor, so hardly any skin was exposed. Bentley had only seen Davis touch skin to induce death.

“Put the kid down, and put your hands where I can see them, Reaper,” A man with beaty eyes, front and center ordered. He didn’t pay Nico’s sparking hands much mind. (They were probably used to it here, Bentley guessed.) “If you listen to me, no one will get… very hurt.”

Davis, with no other real options, gently set Bentley on his feet. The child swayed — only a little — catching himself by grabbing onto Davis’s arm.

“Good. Good. Hands up, gloves on,”

Suddenly, one of the men in the back of the group dropped his pistol with a clack that made everybody jump. He began gasping and clawing at his throat like he was struggling to breathe, like something was in the way. Bentley could’ve swore he caught a glimpse of his irises… glowing white?

The rest of the guards faltered, turning back to look at him. Davis subtly maneuvered himself in front of Bentley; in the line of fire, just like he had at the bar last year.

Wind began to whistle and howl around the room. Around the sterile lab with no windows. It was whipping and jerking Bentley’s hair around, tugging at his gown.

Then another man dropped his pistol, and started to choke — gasping for breath like the air that was all around them just wouldn’t come.

Soon, all eight of them were choking. Coughing. Suffocating. The wind kept picking up speed and intensity until it got hard to hear, and Bentley grabbed ahold of Davis’s arm to avoid getting blown away. The guards’ eyes were bulging, their faces turning various shades of beet red at the lack of oxygen, eyes all glowing the strange, menacing white.

Only when all eight of them were on the floor, staring, unmoving, not breathing, dead, did the wind slow. The white faded from their irises.

Bentley peeled his gaze away from the pile of bodies to glance back at Asten and Nico, who were still in the floor. They stared back, and…

Nico’s irises were glowing white.

—

dedicated to @sassenashsworld 💚

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