Unfortunately, I don't own the DC universe, and have no rights to its characters, as they do not belong to me.

This story is set after the events of Crisis on Two Earths. You may consider it AU, if you'd like. Yes, it does involve an OC as an original character, and this may develope into an OCxCanon, depending on how I feel about it. I am a busy person, and may noy update often, which is why there is a review button to help build author motivation! Reviews are greatly appreciated. Let me know how you like the story! Now, why isn't this in the Justice League category? Because this story is pretty much going to be strictly Batman and his villains, even if some of the events, such as the Crisis on Two Earths itself, involve the Justice League. The League, however, will not be put directly into action in this fanfiction.

"It doesn't matter."

It was believed to be the last thing he would ever say. His voice was dark and grim as the twisted thoughts that swirled within his mind. The world around him was a vast, desolate wasteland, devoid of life, and devoid of purpose. The sky was dark, and the air was cold and painful. It tasted foul as he breathed it in, the last breath he would ever take. The land was mute. Silence enveloped him. For once, in that single moment, there was peace. Then the earth shook. The ground crumbled. A brilliant light exploded out to swallow the land in an intense heat. Owlman felt the flames roll around him, licking his unprotected chin and burning through his armor. It was never made to withstand such direct heat. The earth shattering boom set his ears ringing, and his head pounding. It was all he could hear. All he could understand.

It doesn't matter.

The images of his family rose. His father, Thomas Wayne, stood tall, but his once proud face was now solemn. Upon his chest, his badge shone brilliantly. Like a star. Beside him, Martha, his mother, clutching his arm with eyes wide with fear. Then his brother, little Bruce Wayne, his deep gaze narrowed into a piercing, hateful glare. The death of two of them replayed in his head. The sound of the gun, and their screams filled his mind. The shouting of the other, his father, and his own, pitiful sobs, as the pair suffered. But one seemed to be suffering more than the other. And there was a feral rage in his eyes as he glared up at his father. Thomas Wayne Junior blamed his father for it all, and he would never stop hating that man.

It doesn't matter.

Nothing matters.

His mind screamed over the inferno. His heart was still beating. Why was it still beating? Death should have been instantaneous. His eyes were shut tight, but the light still pierced his lids. Its flickering orange glow began to change to a more solid form, a firm white. The heat was fading to an icy cold. The ringing in his ears stopped, replaced by the sound of a whistling breeze, and the trickle of water. The soft, hoot of an owl soothed him. He recognized the call immediately. It was a Great Horned Owl, a magnificent avian, and one he found inspiration from. Where were the flames? Where was the Reaper's cold embrace? Owlman breathed. His chest rose, shuttering as a terrible pain engulfed his side. He held his breath, struggling not to move with the stabbing agony that he recognized as broken ribs. What else was broken? What terrible wounds had been burned into his flesh?

I'm not dead.

Nothing made sense. Nothing added up. He was supposed to be dead. The bomb had gone off, it had destroyed the very ground he had stood upon just seconds earlier. Now he lay on his back, struggling to breathe with the pain of his injuries, impossibly alive. Explanations flooded his mind. Why? How could he have survived the blast? Owlman narrowed his theories to the most logical one. He deduced that someone must have rescued him. Owlman couldn't have been alone. Someone must have arrived at the last possible second, and they must have teleported him here, to a place he did not yet recognize, with his senses so ruined as they were. He tried to open his eyes, tried to peel his lids apart to view his new surroundings. His body would not cooperate. It shook in defiance, and his head throbbed and clouded suddenly with the simple action. Owlman gave up. He couldn't do it. His own limbs refused to cooperate, and his mind could not recognize his needs.

It doesn't matter.

He tried to say it out loud, to reassure himself. To know that he still had a voice. Only a moan slipped past his lips. Exhaustion took hold of his body and mind, and Owlman had no strength left to fight it. It was all he could do to give in and sleep. The pain began to lighten and the hoots of the Great Horned Owl lulled him to a dream land he had never dared to explore before.

It was over. The Crime Syndicate had been defeated. Justice had prevailed. But there was so much left to do, and so much more to fix. It wasn't the league's job, but Batman still recognized the heavy burden that the other world would have to face. A burden had grown in his own world as well. The league had, as they usually did after some great crisis, broken down. Superman had been silenced. Martian locked himself in his room to meditate. Wonder Woman walked about with a scowl and Hawkgirl had grown cold. Green Lantern was the only one whose attitude hadn't seemed to have changed much, but he was always deep in thought. It was standard procedure. In time, the wounds would heal, and the league would grow close again, ready to take on another apocalypse. But not all relationships would be mended by normal means.

Flash had grown distant. Batman knew why. He knew Flash couldn't so much as look at him without glaring, and in the meeting that took place after the Crisis events, one would even say his glare surpassed Batman's own. It was intense, the complete opposite of what he league was used too. The speedster had officially made Batman his enemy. After what he had done, who could blame him? The whole league now regarded him in a darker tone. Johnny Quick's sacrifice had been necessary, however. Even if the young man had been tricked out of his life, Batman could only remember thinking that he could not allow Flash to carry out the task. Despite what the speedster might think sometimes, he was a valuable member of the league, and due to former events, Batman knew the league couldn't afford to lose him. But someone had to take the fall, and if not Flash, than his criminal counterpart. Perhaps the plan had been cruel. Perhaps cheating the young man out of his future had been cold and heartless. But was there even a future left for him anyway?

Batman narrowed his eyes and sighed. His eyes burned as they looked up at the massive computer screen, lighting up the darkness of the cave. The dwelling bats were his only companions, so late in the night. His fingers moved in a blur across the keys. Killer Croc was lurking in Gotham's sewers, praying on the unwary. Though Batman tried to track him, his thoughts were consistently distracting. He couldn't think straight, and his head ached.

"Damn." He propped his arms up on the desk and rested his head in the palms of his hands, gently rubbing his eyes with his thumbs.

It was exhausting. Being a billionaire by day and a vigilante by night left little time for sleep and relaxation, little time to tend to his injuries, and most of all, little time to simply think. If it wasn't for his faithful butler and surrogate father, Alfred, Batman would likely be dead by now. It was a miracle he had survived this long anyway. Hell, how did he even manage to survive at all? Some would say he was the best of the heroes, but at times, he felt like the worst. He wasn't fast like Flash, or strong like Superman, but his willpower was unmatched by any man, powers or none. He was even known as the world's greatest detective. Gotham's Dark Knight. It could all be a bit overwhelming. Working with such powerful beings to save the world nearly every week of his life, and usually being the key to it all. The one that was always ten steps ahead, as the league often described. They relied heavily on him, he knew.

The computer screen flickered in alarm, and Batman looked up at the sudden noise. Thieves in the Gotham Bank. It was a never-ending fight to keep the criminals off the street. Batman's already grim features darkened. There would be little more time for brooding. He snatched up his cowl from the desk and pulled it over his face, and the white slits that replaced his eyes narrowed into the sharp daggers that made even the strongest men cower. The Batmobile roared to life, before settling into a quieter rumble, and The Batman once more disappeared into the night.