Chapter Text
Batman crouched at the edge of the roof of New Arkham. It was after midnight, and the asylum was as quiet as it ever got. Floodlights illuminated the grounds of the brutalist concrete box as far as the concertina wire that adorned the perimeter fence. On the other side of the access road, the neo-gothic shell of Old Arkham, now-abandoned, loomed, a shadow against the skyline of Gotham City. Overhead, the smog and city lights reflected off the clouds painted the sky a deep red that blotted out the stars and rendered the moon a featureless disc.
Behind him there was a soft rustling, and another figure touched down on the roof near-soundless, the only noise being the soft crunching of his jika-tabi on the gravel roof. Nightwing crept up beside Batman.
“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,” Batman said softly.
“-tt-, and leave you to rescue the pretender by yourself?” Nightwing scoffed.
Batman looked at the younger man with a weariness that said not now. “Robin has been missing for four weeks and this is our only lead.”
“It had better be a good one,” Nightwing replied, “Flamebird is covering me back in Bludhaven.”
Robin had gone missing exactly 28 days ago. The Titans had gone on a mission off-planet that day; Batman had assumed that he was with them. It was only when they returned ten days ago and asked where he was that Batman realized something was amiss. Ever since then he’d been tearing up the city in search of him.
“Did you see that?” Nightwing asked. He indicated one of the windows of Old Arkham, on the third floor. Very faintly a light flickered in the windows of the South Wing, where the more dangerous patients - inmates, really - were held, moving as if coming from a flashlight held by someone walking down the hall.
Only hours before an alert had pinged on the computer in the Cave stating that Old Arkham was once again drawing power from the grid. Technically anyone could be using the abandoned asylum as a hideout, but Occam’s razor suggested this was a lead worth following.
Batman thumbed an earpiece. “Agent A, we have confirmation of movement in Old Arkham. Nightwing and I are moving in to investigate.”
“Very good, sir,” a prim, English-accented voice replied, “the city’s power grid is still reporting the power usage in Old Arkham. It appears to be localized to the maximum-security floor of the south wing. Do be careful, sirs. Both of you.”
Wordlessly the pair leapt off the roof and landed at the foot of the building. They cleared the perimeter fence with ease and vanished out of sight where the floodlights ended. As they passed the old abandoned guard box, they were nearly invisible, shadows moving in the dimness.
Neither availed themselves of a light as they stepped into the stone hallway they’d once walked a hundred times before. The temperature dropped a few degrees, enough that their breath began to fog in the clammy night air. Nightwing’s tabi made no noise on the rough stone floor, while Batman’s boots echoed faintly in the abandoned hallway.
The earpiece crackled to life once more.
“Sir, there appears to be some sort of interference in the comms. I suspect that someone is -”
The rest of the message was cut off in a rush of static.
“If they’re jamming us it’s because they know we’re coming,” Nightwing observed.
Batman said nothing.
“They know what frequency we use. I sincerely doubt that’s all they’ve coerced Robin into divulging.”
Batman remained silent.
“This is a trap,” Nightwing continued, “They moved into here and connected it to the power grid so that you would realize they were here, and now they’re using the pretender as bait.”
Batman didn’t respond.
“-tt-, I knew you’d be that way,” Nightwing grumbled.
They reached the long cross-hallway that connected the two wings of the asylum.
The moment they stepped through the threshold the hallway burst into light as a projector screen leapt onto the rough-hewn wall. A familiar eggshell-pale face peered too close into the camera.
“Evening, Batsy,” the Joker crooned, and the sound echoed through the halls, “if you’re watching our little home movie, it’s because you’ve found out our secret. That is, mine, and your little bird.” He turned the camera to show Robin, bound and gagged in a chair, relieved of his utility belt, the spare birdarang, his cape, the second spare birdarang, his boots and the attendant third and fourth spare birdarangs contained within, and the fifth spare birdarang.
They were in a long, broad room, with tables at regular intervals; the cafeteria of the asylum, in the north wing of the building. Through the barred windows the Gotham skyline glowed amber on the horizon. Robin was strapped to a gurney that had been wheeled in.
Batman ground his teeth hard enough to be audible as the Joker continued.
He tutted. “Such a careless thing, just wandering into our little hideout with some idea of catching me.” He approached Robin and patted him on the cheek. His mask was still on. “I think we’re going to have to teach him a lesson for that, teach him to look before he creeps.”
He slipped a syringe out of his sleeve and jammed it into Robin’s neck. He struggled against the restraints as Joker removed the gag. Then, despite his best efforts, his mouth curled into a jagged rictus of a grin and he began to laugh. Breathlessly, uncontrollably, even as he struggled against the three point hold he was in he laughed. The Joker joined in, and gleefully watched as Robin’s struggling became more and more frantic, and then began to lag, becoming slower and more sluggish as the lack of oxygen led him to pass out, the same grin across his face.
“Ah, look at him,” the Joker said with mock fondness, “we’ve only had him a couple of hours and he’s all tuckered out. Ta-ta, Batsy, we’ll pick this up later.”
The screen flickered and died.
“Did you know Joker escaped?” Nightwing asked.
“I don’t see how he could have,” Batman admitted, “The New Arkham security cameras are accessible from the cave. I check every couple of hours. He hasn’t left his cell outside of scheduled absences, and there’s someone with him at all times.”
“I reiterate, a trap.” Nightwing said.
Batman was silent for a long moment. “Then let’s spring the trap. This way.”
The pair continued down the hallway. The light had come from the high-security level, on the third floor of the building. Batman had a sinking feeling he knew exactly where Joker was keeping Robin.
They came upon the stairwell leading upwards. Once again, the moment they passed the threshold, a projector sprung to life once again.
Same face. Too close once again, giving the camera a good look of the inside of Joker’s nostrils before he steps back from the camera.
“High-ho, Batman,” Joker said, “I’m going to be honest, I’m a little disappointed. I’ve been entertaining a guest for ten days and not a peep! Oh, the bird boy and I have had such fun together, but I’m honestly just a teensy bit let down. No rescue? No heroics? No mad search for the feathered little brat?”
He turned the camera to Robin once again. No struggling this time. Instead he just stared at the Joker, the white lenses of his mask as wide as they’ll get. Joker stepped towards him and he shrunk against the bed he was still strapped to. Sweat beaded on his face as the Joker circled him.
“Harley, be a lamb and give the Boy Blunder his close up,” Joker called.
Behind the camera Harley Quin tittered. “Sure thing Mista J,”
Robin shrank away as the camera came closer. It shuddered, and Harley grunted as she picked it up and held it in her hands. She turned it to Joker.
“We’ve had a few laughs, for sure. Bird Boy here’s developed quite the resistance to my Joker toxin. I’ve had to up the dosage three times already. But we’ve played a few other games as well.” Joker gestured at the tray of surgical instruments before him. He picked up a long, slender object on the tray, and when he pressed down on the trigger it sparked ominously.
“What’s that game the kids are so fond of?” he asked, “Operation?”
Nightwing gasped.
The camera turned to Robin once again, and now he finally began to struggle against the bounds, crying out behind the gag. Then there was the sound of buzzing electricity and the cries became screams as the Joker drove the cattle prod into Robin’s side. He convulsed and screamed as the electricity surged through him over and over again. His breathing became ragged and harsh. A flicker of the camera downwards as Harley struggled under its weight showed a wet patch spread across the green of Robin’s pants.
“Uh, M-mistah J,” Harley stammered, “M-maybe that’s enough, dontcha think? Give the kid a break, ya know?”
The Joker rounded on Harley, eyes blazing. “Harley,” he said with a quiet, crisp snarl, “what have I told you about interrupting my play time?”
“I know, P-puddin’, I just -”
The Joker lept at her with a snarl and the feed cut out. For a moment Nightwing and Batman just stood there, stunned. Nightwing turned to Batman and looked several shades paler than usual.
Another rush of static. “-an, come in”
“I’m here Agent A,” Batman said.
“Whomever is jamming us appears to have stopped,” Alfred informed him, “and there’s something else - a signal coming from a cell in the south wing.”
“Joker’s?” Batman asked.
“It would appear so, sir.”
“Check the feed on Joker’s cell in New Arkham,” Batman instructed.
There was a moment of silence. “Good lord,” Alfred murmured, “he’s gone.”
“Call Gordon. Tell him Joker has escaped, and tell him to lock down the rest of New Arkham,” Batman said.
“As you wish, sir.”
“You think Joker’s keeping Robin in his old cell?” Nightwing asked. His voice was unsteady, and the haughtiness that he usually carried himself with was gone.
“It’s his idea of a joke,” Batman replied.
They flew up the stairs and down the hall, rushing to get to their missing comrade. Their footsteps echoed louder still now, making no attempt at stealth. Nightwing grabbed his twin sai and Batman had a batarang at the ready. A light illuminated the hallway ahead as they took a hard left and down another hallway. Around them nameplates flashed by. W. Jones, M. Hagen, P. Isely, H. Dent. At the end of the hallway, behind a steel door with only a single tiny window made of glass five inches thick, was the Joker’s cell. They came to a halt and threw open the door,
And found it empty.
The bed was rumpled, and when Batman put a hand on it it was still warm. The air was heavy with the stink of sweat and sick and stale urine, but the sheets were fresh. Batman felt a tap on his shoulder, and Nightwing pointed to the far wall, against which they were silhouetted by the last projector.
Joker peered at the camera again. Then he turned it towards Robin. He was completely still, placid, a total reversal of his previous affect. His mask was off and his cerulean eyes stared into the middle distance, unfocused. Every so often his corners of his mouth twitched upwards and he giggled.
“Batsy, Batsy, Batsy, I’m disappointed. It’s taken ages for you to realize the little bird was missing from the nest. I thought you’d have found us long before now, and I’m getting tired. But not to worry, never let it be said that your old pal Mister J. can’t take lemons and make cyanide. I’ve had so many lovely chats with our guest here, and I’ve learned so much about the little tweety bird.”
This time Robin’s face broke into a grin, and he cackled for a few seconds before going blank once more.
“Tell me,” Joker continued, “Is Nightwing there with you? Oh, bird boy here had so much to say about him. How he followed the pair of you at night, camera in hand, all of nine years old. How he worshiped him when he was Robin, put him on the highest pedestal he could.”
Robin was overtaken by another cackling fit, this one longer than the last. Batman spared a glance at Nightwing, whose chest heaved. A muscle in his jaw tensed, and his hands were clenched around the handles of his sai hard enough that his knuckles were stark white against the olive tone of his skin.
“Of course, in person it turns out Nightwing is a bigger jerk than you, Bats. Oh he tried and he tried, but nothing the poor little fledgling did could impress the big bird,” the Joker continued. He simpered, “all the boy wanted was the approval of Big Brother 'wing, but nothing he did was ever enough. And so last time I broke out, he came for me. Seems he thought if he brought me in all by his little lonesome that Nightwing would finally love him.” The Joker joined Robin’s cackling this time, before facing the camera once again. “Never meet your heroes, eh, kiddo?”
Robin grinned. “You said it, boss.” He laughed once again.
The earpiece crackled again. “Agent A to Batman. I have informed Commissioner Gordon. It seems they’ve discovered a passageway from the maintenance tunnels that runs between the two Arkhams, not on the official schematics. It’s possible this is how the Joker’s been getting back and forth between them.”
The Joker was still talking. “I gotta say, we’ve gotten so close, him and I. I think we’ve reached an understanding, haven’t we, dear boy?”
“Copy that,” Batman said.
“I almost don’t dare ask, but have you found Master Robin?”
“Not yet,” Batman replied, “He’s not in Joker’s cell.”
Nightwing grabbed his shoulder. “Batman, look,”
The Joker was holding a revolver now, spinning it idly in his hand. “I bet you’re wondering what game we’re gonna play now.” Robin had started to giggle as he strained against the three-point hold.
“We’ve had suck fun these past few weeks. Shocks, serums, burns, cuts, chokes, we’ve played waterboard and chinese water torture and we’ve even broken a few bones along the way. Well, he has,” and he pointed the gun at Robin, “but now I think we’ll finish our time together with a little inverse Russian Roulette.” He spun the gun again.
“It goes a little like this: one blank, five bullets. I’ll go first.” He lazily raised the gun and pointed it at his ear. Batman and Nightwing tensed as it clicked. The Joker chuckled. “Your turn,”
Nightwing reached for the wall. “NO!”
BANG.
The shell clinked against the floor as Robin slumped forwards, giggling still as crimson spread across his soiled uniform.
The Joker faced the camera once again. “I forgot to add, Batsy, we’re doing things a little different today.” He chuckled again as he leaned in.
“We’re live.”
In an instant they were flying once again through the hallway as the Joker’s laughter echoed against the walls, louder and louder. The cells rushed by as they both entered the stairwell and vaulted the railing, landing in a crouche and resuming the chase.
They burst into the cafeteria to see Joker standing there, hands clasped in anticipation.
Batman doesn’t hesitate, tossing a batarang at Joker, which he dodged.
“Help Robin,” he ordered Nightwing, “I’ll take Joker.”
“Took you long enough, Batsy,” Joker taunted, tossing a metal tray at Batman like a frisbee. Batman swiped it away. He drove his fist into Joker’s stomach. He wheezed with mirth.
“Oh, are you upset I banged up your little Robin?” He threw a right cross at Batman and leapt behind the counter. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten all about him. Every day he told me ‘Batman will find me.’ Of course eventually he realized you weren’t coming. He was much more cooperative once that happened.” He swung a large soup pot at Batman and sent him reeling.
Behind him he heard Nightwing hail Flamebird on comms. He also thought he heard the words “Timothy, please,”
Batman slammed Joker against the wall.
“I’ll break you in half,” he growled.
Joker cackled. “No you won’t,” he sang, and his eyes narrowed and he smirked. “If you had the guts for that you wouldn’t have spent so much time holding back the first Boy Blunder. A child after my own heart, that lad. The knives and the beheadings - can’t forget the grenade in the mouth. My, oh my, what potential you quashed in the boy”
Batman had to duck as Joker swung a carving knife at him, letting go and dodging just in time for it to cut into the cowl. Batman threw another punch, and this time blood sprayed from Joker's nose. He continued cackling, blood dripping down onto his teeth.
"Hit a nerve, have I Batman?" He threw a series of metal trays at batman and laughed as he batted them out of the way as he had the first one.
"I have to admit, though, the way he destroyed the Boy Blunder's spirit, why, even I'm not that evil!"
He flipped backwards as Batman threw another punch at him again, landing on the countertop and grabbing a frying pan which he swung at Batman. Batman caught it and yanked Joker forwards, punching him in the gut.
"But you know what I say, kill two birds with one revolver. Maybe now that his spirit is broken, I can start on the older one. Really unlock that potential for violence and mayhem you squandered in him, huh? Or maybe I'll just kill him, too"
Batman's vision turned red as he grabbed the frying pan and swung it at Joker, knocking him in the face. He caught himself on a stovestill cackling, as Batman brought the frying pan down on his arm with a sickening snap, then drove his boot down on the Joker's knee and enjoyed the feeling of tendons and ligaments breaking beneath his foot. As Joker fell back onto the stone floow he continued to laugh as Batman rained punch after punch onto Joker again and again and again and again and again and -
"Batman, stop!"
A hand caught his fist and didn't let go.
When Batman turned, Flamebird stood over him, eyes wide.
"That's enough, Flamebird said, "he's down." The brightness of his gold suit with the crimson bird across his chest and the belt and cape the same color was jarring in the dun and gray of Arkham.
A strangled "No, no please," drew their eyes to Robin. Nightwing was doing chest compressions, his face glistening beneath his domino mask. Robin - no, Tim - was lying still, his matted center-part brushed off to the sides and his eyes glassy and unseeing. Flecks of blood dotted his pale delicate features.
Flamebird looked at Batman, his face ashen. “I don’t hear a heartbeat,” he said.
“Nightwing,” he urged. “Nightwing,” he said more firmly. He put a hand on his shoulder.
“Damian,” Jonathan said, “he’s gone.”
Damian stopped, and swayed for a moment on his heels, then fell sideways into Jonathan’s arms. He buried his face in Jonathan’s chest and Jonathan ran his fingers through his hair. Damian’s shoulders shook and his breath came in ragged gasps, and, muffled by Jonathan’s shoulder, Bruce could hear the same phrase repeated over and over again.
“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry…”