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Tonight was supposed to have been an easy night (easy patrol that ended early for a change so that they could all sleep for longer than an hour) at the end of a long week of thugs, drug raids, and bouts of Scarecrow’s Fear Toxin hitting Gotham; they were so so wrong.
Jason had joined the Bats for patrol that night. While his relationship with them as a whole was still rocky, it was improving. Not only was it improving but it was leagues better than it had been just over a year ago when he had attacked Tim in a Pit-fueled supposed revenge scheme.
In hindsight, it might have been better Jason hadn’t joined their patrol. Maybe if he had stuck to Crime Alley that night then they wouldn’t have had this whole mess.
Patrol had been relatively peaceful, well as peaceful as it could be with Damian and Tim on the same route, for the start of the evening. That peaceful start lulled the slightly less paranoid ones into thinking that it would stay that way. But lo and behold, not even ten minutes after Tim had formed that thought, Oracle alerted them to an Arkham breakout.
Not only was it an Arkham breakout (which, regardless of which prisoners had gotten out, extended their night by three hours at least ) but the Joker was among the escaped prisoners.
That was problem number one. Problem number two came up next when Bruce was assigning each pair a section of Gotham to sweep through, Jason failed to respond to the comm.
“Hood hasn’t turned his comm off,” Barbara reported, her voice sounding slightly tinny through their earpieces. “But he has turned off his location tracker, so has Red,” That last part set them all on edge as standard patrol protocol required them to turn their location trackers on as soon as they put on their uniform for the night and not turn it off until they changed out at the end.
“Where were their last logged locations?” Dick asked over the line before Bruce could say anything. Unlike the rest of the ‘Batfamily’, Bruce and Dick were both standing on the same roof.
“Both were last logged entering the warehouse district. Twenty minutes ago,” Even though that sentence, they could practically hear Barbara’s concern.
“Joker was last seen in that district,” Steph added. That bit of information only added to their collective concern.
Bruce once again didn’t get any time to say anything as Dick was sprinting at top speed across the rooftops towards the warehouse district as soon as Barbara finished speaking.
Despite two of their members possibly being taken captive, everyone who isn’t Dick continued with their sweeps of the city; they still have escaped prisoners to deal with after all. Steph did tell Dick to call for backup the moment he needed it at some point along the way.
The moment Tim came to with an annoying ear-splitting headache he noticed three rather important things: he was bound to a concrete pillar by rope, he wasn’t alone (Jason was bound to a similar pillar but on his knees rather than standing), and most importantly, the Joker was in the room.
Despite not having moved much, Joker still noticed that he was now conscious. The clown turned to face them both, yet another one of his trademarked creepy smiles on his face.
“Good. You’re finally awake,” Joker was talking but Tim was ignoring him (for the most part) while he scoped the room. They seemed to be in some kind of warehouse which made sense as they had been heading that way after Harley; there didn’t seem to be much else in the space except for them, a video camera, and a crowbar. A freaking crowbar.
It was at that moment that Tim realised that there were bricks on either side of his head which prevented him from turning his head in either direction.
The Joker grabbed the video camera and turned back to Jason, who was not only bound on his knees but was also gagged, same as the one that covered his own mouth.
“Smile for the camera!” The clown exclaimed as he clicked it on.
“You never did answer my question,” he drawled as he switched the video camera for the crowbar. “So I’ll ask again. Which hurts more: forehand-” Joker paused to swing the crowbar forehand onto Jason, whose red helmet was suspiciously nowhere to be seen.
Even though the gag that covered his mouth, Tim heard Jason gasp but he did not cry out, it hadn’t come to that, yet.
The Joker hit him again forehanded and when he drew it back Tim caught sight of spots of blood coating the tip. Even from this angle and distance, he was still close enough to see the cloudy sheen that took over Jason’s eyes as the crowbar came down a second time
This wasn’t really happening, was it? The Joker had plenty of time to try this again since the information that the Red Hood was the second Robin got out months ago; so why did he wait until now?
“-or backhand,” The crowbar struck Jason’s chin and left a thick angry red line in its wake. This time he didn’t react verbally, he did react with a jerk that, to an eye that wasn’t Bat-trained, would have been invisible.
If Tim had been someone else, he might have looked away from what was happening right in front of him. He was not someone else. He wouldn’t leave Jason to be the only witness to the Joker’s latest madness. Especially not in a situation that more likely than not reminded Jason of his death.
As he watched, Tim tugged quietly at the ropes (links of chain actually) to see if he could find a weak link somewhere along. To his rare luck, there was more than a single weak one. The two were in a perfect position that if he tugged hard enough in one direction, the chain would come loose and he would be free.
Somehow, around the gag and everything, Jason managed to spit “Neither,” but it lacked the level of venom it could have held.
That wasn’t the answer that the Joker was looking for, they all knew it. “Wrong answer!” The clown prince of Gotham hit the second Robin once again over the head with the crowbar, the flat heel end this time around.
For the five minutes that followed, Tim had to stand there, do nothing, and watch as his older brother was beaten tortured ( again ) by Gotham’s most infamous psychopath.
But with that last strike of the crowbar, Jason’s head tipped far forward in a way that for whatever reason set off alarm bells for Tim.
When that happened, the Joker stopped beating Jason with the crowbar to drop it onto the filthy warehouse floor so that he could retrieve a red-backed casino-standard playing card (a joker, if Tim had to guess) from an inside pocket of his trademarked purple suit.
The joker card meant that the Joker was wrapping up his torture of the second Robin. Tim got ready to force apart the chain that bound him to the pillar and to attack the Joker if it came to that.
With just the edge - which was sharper than a razor he soon found out - of the playing card, the Joker sliced through the section of kevlar weave over Jason’s right shoulder (the second Robin had reinforced the sections of kevlar over his shoulders with shards of steel but it didn’t make a difference). Once a jagged ugly cut was made into the armour and Jason’s shoulder, the Joker plunged his namesake into the aforementioned cut on an angle so that only a corner of it was actually sticking into him.
“You’re way more fun to play with than old Batsy,” the Joker announced. “Especially since our last time was cut short,” he added. Then he turned to Tim, the first time since he had noticed that he was conscious. “So would you, Robin 3.0,” It was at that moment that the thought occurred to Tim that the Joker might start torturing him.
But he was shortly proven incorrect as the Joker turned and attempted to take his leave. Key word: attempted. In the handful of seconds that it took him to get fifteen meters away Tim did the following things: got his hands free of the chains, grabbed a birdarang off of his belt (that the Joker stupidly had not taken), and thrown it with his usual lethal accuracy.
It didn’t just hit its mark; Tim had thrown it with enough force that it went all the way, not just through the material but through flesh as well, and beyond even that to tear its way through the Joker’s heart and out the other side. Distantly he heard the clink of the birdarang’s metal against the concrete floor.
What the hell had he just done?
He had actually been foolish enough to hope for an easy night, and that hope had come back to bite him in the ass twice as hard. Not only was it an Arkham breakout but the freaking Joker had gotten out. Again.
That psycho wouldn’t get out of a hole six feet under.
He and Tim had been chasing Harley before she could do too much damage to civilian life and/or have a chance to join back up with the Joker. Jason had jumped down into an alleyway, leading the way down but as soon as his boots touched down on the cobblestone, something hard, dense and metal hit him on the back of his head and his world went dark.
When Jason came to, it was in a situation that he had never wanted to be in ever again; he was bound - on his knees - and gagged in front of the Joker. Not just that, the psycho had a freaking crowbar with him.
As soon as he was conscious enough to move, he tugged hard against his binds, which were links of chain for fuck’s sake, which held true. That was just his luck.
Jason was fine (so far) as he could be. The Joker had yet to actually do anything to him then kidnap him and bind him to a support pillar in a warehouse. He wasn’t panicking, yet.
What does make him falter, however, is the sight of another person bound to another support pillar - that someone was dressed in the familiar red, yellow and green. Replacement.
His Replacement was also gagged but not on his knees. There were bricks on either side of Tim’s head that forced him to look straight at him. But the kid was still unconscious, his head tipped slightly forward.
In his observation, Jason noted that the kid still had his utility belt. He hadn’t realised that Joker was that stupid that he stripped him of his weapons but not Tim.
In his peripheral vision, he saw the Joker messing around with a bulky object, a video camera? What he couldn’t understand was why the clown hadn’t yet started the torture, the Joker wasn’t one to wait.
With a muffled half-grunt, Tim returned to consciousness. As soon as he did, the Joker spun to face them, the video camera now on the warehouse floor.
“Good. You’re finally awake.” the psycho exclaimed, one of his usual creepy-ass smiles firmly on his face. What happened after that, only Tim would remember.
The Joker apparently wanted Round Two. “Which hurts more-” Jason braced himself for the incoming hit.
“-forehand,” The crowbar came down on his skull (his helmet was gone) and for the briefest moment after it struck there was blissful nothing but that was soon shattered by pain blooming on the crown of his skull. To his horror, the crowbar came down again, this time with the pointed end down. As it made contact with his head, the blossoming pain was focused into two fine points.
Vaguely, he felt the world fading out as the gray fought for dominance. Jason didn’t try to fight it, he’d take literally anything to get away from this situation; physically would be preferable but he would take it mentally if it was offered to him. He let the gray take him completely.
Faintly he heard the Joker say “-or backhand?” But it was soon overshadowed by a wave of pain from the underside of his head and a drop of something warm oozed sluggishly down his neck.
Jason heard himself attempt to spit “Neither,” at the clown but, even in this state, he knew that it didn’t have the venom that it could have contained.
That moment was when he lost time, only about fifteen minutes but he still lost time.
Before he could get too carried away turning over what he had just done, Tim mentally shook himself and reminded himself of his list of current priorities. Number one: get those chains off of Jason.
To be able to do that, he couldn’t use a birdarang, it called for something stronger, something less delicate. It called for a pair of pliers that were a cross between normal pliers, bolt cutters, and straight saw.
As Tim had thought, the modified pliers cut through the chain quickly and efficiently, and soon enough, Jason was free. Without the chains binding his arms back and as he was balanced on his knees, there was nothing keeping Jason from tipping (and falling) forward.
Before his face could become one with the ground, Tim caught his (non cut up) left shoulder with one hand. His other hand clicked the panic alert on his belt. The others were probably already on their way here but hitting the panic alert wouldn’t hurt anyone, it might even get them here faster.
It took some manoeuvring but Tim managed to stand up with Jason without touching him too much. Slowly but surely they made their way to the exit (Tim was careful to keep the Joker’s body out of Jason’s sight).
A few minutes after they had finally stepped outside, Dick appeared - not just arrived but appeared out of thin air - in the street in front of them. Almost immediately, their oldest brother’s eyes fell upon the playing card stuck into Jason’s shoulder and a frown settled on his face.
“Jase-” Dick breathed, temporarily forgetting the policy about no names in the field. He turned to Tim. “The Batmobile’s a block over, do you think you two can make it there,” he told him. Even with the domino mask that covered Dick’s eyes, he could tell that the elder vigilante wanted to ask questions, a lot of questions.
“Yeah. Can you tell the others that we’re heading in early? I’ve kinda got my hands full,” Tim asked.
“Sure. See you both at the Cave.”
Tim was pretty sure that Dick had called the Batmobile closer to their position because he found it parked much closer than a block away. Nevertheless, he was thankful for it as due to the...size height difference, it was rather awkward and clunky leading Jason down the street.
Half an hour later the entire Batfamily was back in the Cave; most had been sent off to shower or to someplace else in on the grounds (or off it, in Damian’s case.
The only ones still down in the Cave were Bruce, Jason, and Dick. Tim had wanted to stay but had been shooed off to shower, and had yet to return.
Alfred was also down in the Cave with them, the butler had been waiting for their return. He was currently standing in the medical corner of the Cave where Jason was sitting on a cot. The playing card had been taken out of his shoulder and the cut been cleaned, all that was left was to cover it in bandages to prevent it from becoming infected.
The second Robin still had yet to say anything, although he was present enough to react (non-verbally) to Bruce which was good.
“Who did that to him?” Bruce asked. Without saying anything, Dick held up the blood-coated playing card. There was nothing that he needed to say.
Instead of saying anything, a hard frown settled on Bruce’s face as he turned away, towards the armoury section of the Cave.
“B, the Joker’s dead. Tim killed him,” Dick called quietly after him as the Batman stalked toward the armoury. Those six words made him stop.
“ What ?” Bruce asked. Dick approached him slowly.
“It was an accident. Tim threw a birdarang to wound him but misjudged the force needed,” he explained. Bruce turned away again.
“What happened to the body?” Bruce asked instead of doing anything. He didn’t move from where he stood.
“Disposed of somewhere where no one will find it anytime soon,” Dick told him.
“Good.” Bruce said. “How’s Jason doing?” He moved the conversation on.
The acrobat shrugged. “What do you think?”
Instead of replying verbally, Bruce grunted in affirmation. He left for the stairs that led up to the manor; while Dick crossed to the medical bay.
“Hey, Jase,” he greeted as he approached. To his happiness, his immediate youngest brother reacted to his presence with a turn of his head.
“How’re you doing?” he asked.
“What’d you think, Dickie?” Jason returned. That surprised him significantly.
“Fair,” he agreed. By then, Alfred had finished bandaging Jason’s shoulder.
“Alright,” the butler cut in. “Master Jason, I think it is due time for you to head up to bed; you too, Master Dick,” he told them. Neither of them dared to defy Alfred, ever. So they both departed from the medical bay and climbed the stairs up into the Manor.
On his way to his room, Jason ran into Tim, who seemed to be looking for him but trying to make it look like he was just walking. “Thanks, Baby Bird,” Jason thanked as he passed the sixteen-year-old.
“It’s fine, it was long overdue anyway,” Tim added.
“It was,” he agreed.
When Jason woke not even an hour after he had gone to sleep later that night (late into the morning actually), it was to see Tim, Dick, and Damian all sprawled out over his bed.
Or rather, he woke to a foot in his face (Dick’s), an elbow in his ribs (Damian), and someone half sprawled over his feet (Tim). He wasn’t a heavy sleeper at all so how exactly did those three manage to get into his room, let alone on his bed, without waking him up?
Before Jason could come up with an answer to that, he mentally filed it away for a later date (AKA when he was more awake and coherent) and settled back into the pillows but not before he carefully moved Dick’s foot out of his face.
With the knowledge that his brothers were there with him, Jason didn’t have any nightmares for the rest of the night (morning).