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Everything hurt, everything felt like it was on fire.
Traveler 1364 gasped, taking a deep breath; this was his first transfer, but he didn't think it was supposed to hurt this much. He thought - the Director said - that the impact pain of the overwrite would be limited to the Host, that when he initialized, it would be fine.
But his head was ringing and the world was spinning, and did he misfire? But - a misfire shouldn't - he shouldn't -
Then the pain was starting to fade to a dull, throbbing ache in his skull, enough to realize he was laying on his side inside a warehouse, not crashed outside of it, and other pains were coalescing to localized areas - his ribs were sore, likely bruised but manageable, his leg burned, broken bone, maybe? - and someone was - laughing.
It wasn't normal laughter.
It was probably the creepiest laughter that he had ever heard.
Maybe people in the 21st just laughed like that? He didn't think so.
He hadn't seen any recordings that suggested that, but most recordings were about speeches and politicians, not everyday life. He blinked, trying to get his bearings. He didn't see the bike Jason had crashed, didn't see any evidence of a crash. There was a woman standing well back, staring at him, eyes wide. She met his eyes, gave a slight exhale, and looked away. Her hand was shaking as she raised a cigarette back to her lips.
Then he saw who was laughing.
"What -” 1364 croaked out, and his voice was hoarse, rough. Was that how he was supposed to sound?
The Joker - because who else could it be - cackled. 1364 - now Jason Todd - just stared, not quite sure what he was seeing. It hurt to breathe, it hurt to move, it felt like it hurt to think, and the Joker was standing in front of him.
The Joker had come up in discussions of Gotham, of course, he had been a fixture of the era. Blamed for everything from natural gas leaks and chemical explosions, for a nerve malady that 21st science couldn't seem to fully explain called 'Joker gas,' the man had developed a reputation for eccentricity and an aura of fear. It was believed that he had taken advantage of situations, claimed responsibility for accidents and orchestrated several terrorist situations, and the fear had grown from there. He had been labeled a dangerously disturbed individual by the briefing, and to avoid if possible.
During the briefing, 1364 had gotten the feeling that people mostly had been overreacting to the man. Now, staring at the man's too-pale skin and his too-wide, blood red mouth, listening to him laugh - it no longer felt like an overreaction.
"Oh hohohooo!" The Joker cackled, jumping closer to him. 1364 couldn't help it; he jerked back. For some reason, the Joker froze at that, his eyes suddenly narrowing as he cocked his head sideways. "Little biiirrrdy, little birdyyyyy," he sang-song, soft and menacing - and 1364 was vividly remembering those quickly dismissed accounts, the summation of multiple police reports and news sources, all noting the terror the man exuded. "What did you do, little birdie?" The Joker cooed, leaning closer. He didn't even move normally, 1364 realized. And whether it was for effect or due to a true mental handicap, the effect was ... disturbing. "I waaaant to knooow!"
It looked real, but it didn't feel real. It almost looked like the man had stepped out of a play - or a hallucination. The man looked positively psychotic, and 1364 was strongly wishing they had done more research on the man. They hadn't even been able to pin down a name.
The Joker suddenly jerked forward, swinging a crowbar forward, and 1364 lurched back, jerking one arm up to try to cover his head, trying to ignore the pain screaming across his ribs. He expected a blow - but nothing came. Just light cackles, an almost soft sound compared to the insane laughter of earlier.
1364 - Jason now, he needed to start referring to himself as Jason - looked up, at the man who was staring at him like a particularly interesting specimen.
"What have you done, little birdy?" The man sing-songed, and 1364's head was pounding, everything was hurting too much.
"I don't know what you mean," he said, leaning back as the crowbar came up to poke him in the chest.
The Joker poked him again, and cackled as Jason winced. The man's eyes were almost comically wide, his mouth stretched open in a grin that just seemed to keep going. "What did you dooooo!"
"I don't know what you mean," Jason said, trying to keep his voice even, calm. It wouldn't help to inflame a deranged lunatic, someone who was supposed to be half way across the world, on another continent.
"Yes, you do," Joker said, sounding suddenly and completely lucid.
Jason stared up at him, startled at the sudden change, and the Joker leaned closer.
"Tell me," the Joker hissed, jabbing him hard in the ribs.
Jason gasped in pain, jerking back - but the crowbar just followed him, jabbed at him again. He swatted at it, tried to grab it, but the Joker twisted it easily away, and Jason had to scramble back as the Joker brought it down hard at him. He screamed, pain lancing up his broken leg as the crowbar hit. He expected another hit, but nothing came, and he just tried to breathe, not looking directly at the Joker, unsure what had triggered the man. His leg was screaming, his head was spinning, and he didn't understand any of this.
He was supposed to have transferred right before the crash, with enough time to get out, get away from the explosion that followed. The Joker wasn't supposed to be involved. No one was supposed to be involved.
The Joker was squatting right in front of him, grin in place, eyes piercing. "Cuckoo," the man cackled softly. "Oooh cuckoo, cuckoo! What does the cuckoo say?"
******
He comes in slow, and silent. It's agony, waiting, watching, wondering - but if he goes in hot, if he doesn't know where Jason is, where Joker is -
Everything could end in disaster.
If he needs to, he'll go through the door, hard and fast - but the warehouse has a back entrance. It's locked, but it only takes a few extra seconds to get through it. (Too late, too slow! He wants to scream, but he's spent too long learning control, too long knowing patience to lose the element of surprise to rash foolishness.) As he slips inside there's voices, muffled, that he can't quite make out, and a cry of pain.
Bruce jerks towards the sound despite himself, then forces himself not to rush. He slips through the stacks of boxes, and spots the group just as Joker's voice becomes clear.
"Is the cuckoo going to beg?" Joker cackles.
It's a quick assessment, brief and thorough as Bruce ducks a look around the corner. Joker is waving a crowbar around, too close to where Jason's on the ground, and it swings close to Jason's head. (Close enough that Jason has to duck, close enough that he could have grabbed it. Potentially. But Joker can be unpredictable in these situations and Bruce might not be seeing the full picture.) Sheila’s off to the side, looking decidedly like she wants to be anywhere but here.
"Weeeellll, cuckoo?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Jason rasps out, arm still up to protect his face. He's in a bad position, not in a defensive position, and if he's hurt enough that he can't -
He has enough information. Bruce comes around the corner, fast and hard, flings a smoke bomb for distraction and several batarangs as a leading attack. Joker deflects them, leaping sideways - he didn't expect them to hit, deliberately had to throw them at a disadvantage so Joker wouldn't be able to knock them towards Jason.
Bruce crosses the space in moments, and Joker skitters back with a cackle. He stops in front of Jason, desperately wanting to look at his son, wanting to make sure he's okay - but Joker's still a threat. So is Sheila, but she's cowering against the wall, the smaller threat at the moment.
"Batman?" Jason whispers - and, is that a question?
But Joker's moving, and Bruce has too much experience with the man's psychosis to trust that this attack is all there is. He launches himself forward, twisting to take only a glancing blow of the crowbar instead of letting it fully impact against his armor (too much experience with things that are not as they should be), and sees the flash of a gun in Joker's other hand. Bruce's twisting motion let Joker spin to get distance, let him open up just enough space - if Bruce tackles him, he'll have a direct line to Jason. Bruce jerks sideways, cape flaring to distract the eye as he flings another batarang, expecting a bullet's impact -
But Joker flicks his hand up, avoiding the batarang as the gun changes direction, and Bruce is lunging forward, already knowing he's going to be too late. He hears the gun go off as he hits the man, twists Joker's arms behind his back as he cuffs him, but Joker's not resisting.
He's just laughing, cackling that awful laugh that he does when he's won, and you haven't caught onto the full scope of his game yet. Bruce takes just long enough to make sure the binds are tight around Joker's wrists, his ankles, before he turns, gut ice-cold with fear.
Jason's still off to the side, staring at him with wide eyes, one arm cradled protectively over his chest, leg dragging like it's hurt, maybe broken - but no obvious bullet wounds. Sheila - Sheila is another matter. Bruce is at her side in an instant, helping her ease to the ground and pulling wound sealant out of his belt as he puts pressure on gaping hole in her chest, but Joker shot true. She's gasping, gargling, and even if she gave Jason over to Joker, she doesn't deserve this fate. Jason doesn't deserve to lose her only hours after they first met.
There's blood bubbling up through her mouth, and her fingers are starting to spasm - and Jason's not next to him, next to her. Bruce throws a look over his shoulder, suddenly panicked, but Jason's sitting up, alert as far as Bruce can tell, but he's not moving, not trying to get closer. Just watching with wide, startled eyes, more focused on Joker and him than the dying woman who's his biological mother.
"Jason -" he says, already turning back to Sheila, but the woman gives a sudden spasm under his hands and goes limp.
Bruce lets out a soft breath, then checks her pulse. She's gone, the bullet likely having clipped a major vessel as it tore through her chest. He closes her eyes, and turns back to Joker, to Jason - who still hasn't moved, hasn't asked about Sheila.
Shock? Or something more sinister?
He's over to Jason in a second; the living still take priority over the dead.
"Injuries?" Bruce demands, hesitating as Jason seems to recoil from him. "Jason?" He asks, softer.
"I'm okay," Jason finally replies.
"Can I take a look?" Bruce asks, trying to keep his voice soft, trying not to panic, as Jason nods. He's gentle with his fingers, with his exam as he turns Jason's head back and forth, has Jason track a finger moving in front of his eyes. Head wound but no apparent concussion, broken arm but not the leg - badly sprained ankle, maybe.
"Waiting on yoooouuuu!" Joker cackles off to the side, and Bruce ignores him. Wishes that he wasn't here, that Jason wasn't flinching at the madman's words. Wishes he could stand between Joker and his son, but he needs to be able to see the man; Joker has a history of too many tricks to trust him with a turned back.
"Shut up," he growls, even knowing this will likely make Joker worse.
"Couldn't start without you, Batsy!" Joker says, and Bruce doesn't grit his teeth. He doesn't.
"Start what?" He asks; engaging with the madman is the last thing he wants to do, but if he planted something, planned something -
"Start the joke! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!" Joker practically howls with laughter, and Bruce sees Jason twitch out of the corner of his eye. "Cuckoo! Cuckoo!"
"Can you stand?" Bruce turns back to Jason, deciding to deal with Joker's latest break with reality at a later time.
"Yeah," Jason says, short and tight, and he puts words to effort. "Yeah. Do you have a phone? I need to call my family."
Bruce goes still, and only practice keeps him from clenching his fist down on Jason's arm.
"Cuckoo! Cuckoo!" Behind him, Joker's still laughing. "There's a cuckoo in the nest!"
There's cold ice in his gut, and Bruce is getting the feeling that he knows what the joke is.