Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jason stumbled across the muddy grass, heavy rain soaking through what remained of his armor straight down to his bones. He paid no attention to the hair plastered to his face or to the dripping water mixing with the blood on his body; keeping upright after every step took all of what little remaining energy he had left. So it was to no surprise that he found himself tripping over his feet as he dragged on, hips slamming into headstone after headstone, worsening the already severe stab wound in his abdomen.

He was forced to stop at a large tree for a momentary relief from the rain, breathing heavily with one hand resting on the trunk and the other against his stomach. Steeling himself with a deep breath, he finally got the nerve to peel his palm off to take a look at his stomach. Blood quickly began spilling out of the open wound, his trembling hand dripping in red. He quickly resumed applying pressure with a hiss, forcing himself to compartmentalize the burning pain to the very edge of his mind, not willing to deal with it at the moment.

If there was one benefit to come out of his time with the League, he thought drily, it was the acquired ability to ignore any and all pain.

After a little while, he forced himself to move again before his body failed him, continuing on his journey to his final destination. Passing by eerie statues and mausoleums, he soon reached the particular stone he had been searching for. He came to a halt, blearily staring at the epitaph. A second passed, a single breath, and a tremble ran through his legs before he finally collapsed to his knees with a heavy thud, mud splattering all over his body. One hand slowly hovered over the words etched onto the stone and when he finally touched the letters, the unexpected wave of grief had him clenching his jaw, trying desperately to hold back the familiar burn of tears growing behind his eyes.

Here lies Jason Peter Todd.

His hands shook, gloveless fingers too numb to feel the delicate bumps of the etched marble.

Beloved brother and son.

A tear escaped his control, hidden by the heavy downpour.

May he rest in peace.

What a joke.

What a fucking joke.

A choked laugh escaped his control, followed by several more, the sounds of a madman accompanied by rolling thunder and flashes of lightning. Laughter soon turned into ugly sobs until the next thing he knew, he was screaming. He screamed and screamed and screamed, pounding fist after fist into the ground as mud and grass flew all around. His throat was left raw as a result of the rage and agony pumping through him. He knew these actions were only aggravating the dangerous wound on his abdomen but instead of hiding and pushing it away, he finally let open the doors, embracing the familiar flood of pain with open arms. It fueled the flames that burned throughout him and served as a stark reminder of why he was here in the first place, why he lay there on his grave with what was most likely a lethal wound.

Even in death, he knew he’d never be forgiven for his past, so perhaps tonight would be the night he would face judgment by all those he had wronged. He was neither a saint nor an angel, only leaving behind a legacy that reeked of death. After all, he had been the monster in the shadowing alleyways, the villain in the hushed whispers told amongst the city's inhabitants.

He was no hero.

Although his so-called brothers insisted that the past was in the past, Jason knew better. The forgiveness they extended was nothing more than false promises to maintain a peaceful front. His past transgressions against those who he could have called family, had it not been for his fucked-up mind, made him unworthy of their forgiveness.

The sad truth that no one wanted to admit was that no one had truly forgiven him – himself included. They were all just too afraid to say it out loud for fear of how Bruce would react.

Like all fires, the rage running through him eventually ran its course and was soon smothered by a wave of apathy, leaving behind only embers of a familiar emptiness. His body went limp as he slumped forward to lean on his headstone, wound throbbing along every heartbeat.

They could try to downplay the brutality of his actions by wrapping it up neatly with a pretty bow tucked away in the furthest reaches of the cave all they wanted, but the past was definitely not in the past – not when Dick watched Jason’s every move like a hawk when he was around, ready to spring at him at any moment’s notice to protect the younger Bats. Not when Tim still flinched around him on those bad bad days, when he remembered the glow of Jason’s eyes and how the older teen’s anger had broken him, reminding the young teen to never meet his heroes because they would fail him and abandon him bloody and broken on linoleum floor. Not when Damian skirted around him and his anger because, for all his talk, he was still a young boy fearing for the day Jason’s gun would be aimed at his little chest once more.

Nothing was in the past because everyone walked on eggshells around him – Steph, rightfully so, could never truly forgive him for what he had done to Tim despite all their jokes and laughter over late-night waffles. Cassandra was unforgiving, ice cold as she read the bloodstains upon his body as a testament to his innumerable sins. Without the emotional baggage of the others, Duke was perhaps the warmest of them all but even so, he kept Jason at an arm’s length, very much aware of the Red Hood’s past.

Just a few examples of the many ways Jason had failed them all.

The brutal scar on his neck he typically kept hidden itched terribly. He grasped his turtleneck and pushed it aside, scratching at the ugly red line, his thoughts becoming increasingly muddled due to the growing lack of blood. He knew he needed to patch himself up before his body went into shock but…what was the point? He had nowhere to go, not when the Bats would be on their rampage through the city in search of the Red Hood. Tonight, no one would be safe from the Batman himself, not when the hero’s failure of a son, his broken Robin, his worst mistake, was out and not behind bars.

…But B just never really got it, did he?

Jason wasn’t his son. That kid died in an abandoned warehouse. He wasn’t that naive fifteen-year-old that loved being Bruce Wayne’s son, that had loved donning Robin’s colors and flying through the night, foolishly believing in the good of people and Gotham despite the failures of the city and its systems. He wasn’t the kid that Bruce wanted and the older man never failed to remind him of it every time they found themselves in a room together, their harsh words ripping apart old wounds to fester and bleed in hate.

He knew it would’ve been easier if he could just…flip a switch, becoming the boy everyone wanted. Hell, there were days where even he wished it was that simple, that he could just magically take back the horrors of the last few years and return to the manor, falling to his knees to beg for just a sliver of forgiveness that he knew he had no right to ask for. He longed for those sleepless nights in the library, curled up in his father’s arms as they read a book together with the fireplace warming their weary bodies, tongue dancing with the magical flavors of Alfred’s hot chocolate as he lay safe at home.

He knew. He knew and cried and wailed because he knew.

…But life didn’t work like that and neither did he, not anymore. He couldn’t go back, not when the shadows of Red Hood and the Joker loomed over the manor like a ghost haunting their every step.

Besides, Jason was a ghost – a boy once dead, brought back to life by a multiversal mishap. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He was just a shell of who he once was, walking around in an unfamiliar body that was too big and too tall, a facade of the boy he ought to have been but never was.

Jason was aware that during his early reign as Red Hood, when everything about anything could set him off, he could’ve done things differently. In fact, he should have. His rise through the underground had been overdramatic but those had been the nights when too much of the green had tinted his vision, a twisted sense of vengeance controlling the narrative by poisoning the world around him. Everyone had been an enemy back then, ready to turn against him at a moment’s notice. His paranoia practically ran his criminal empire in those early days, turning it into what it was now.

But the Red Hood had been made for survival, not for living; it was a stolen caricature designed to spit in the face of his murderer. Even if it was a pitiful attempt that still continued to this day, it was still survival nonetheless. Jason wasn’t alive save for his still beating heart – to live meant to be free, to laugh amongst loved ones, to be happy.

So the night when Batman sliced his neck open? Left him to bleed out in a collapsing building to save his murderer? Yeah, that had been the lowest of lows, but it had also been the first time that he could truly see without the Lazarus lapping at the corners of his vision. It was then he finally accepted that no one would come and save him but himself, that he was the only one to blame for the consequences of his actions. The only thing that sickly green rage burning within him had done was intensify the betrayal that had been simmering right below his skin. Nothing else. It took and took until all that was left behind was a burnt-out corpse of a human being with nowhere to go, no one to turn to.

A sudden sharp pain shot through his neck, briefly drawing him out of his thoughts. He pulled his fingers back, only to notice the fresh blood in between his fingernails – he had scratched at the scar hard enough to bleed. With a groan, he slowly sat up and straightened his posture, the agonizing movement pulling at his stomach.

He didn’t blame B…not really, not anymore – not for killing the Joker and not for choosing him. How could he when he now knew that the old man would never kill anyone even under the most extreme of circumstances? Because what could have been more of an incentive than his parents’ death – his own children’s deaths?

Maybe in another universe, there would be a Batman who made it in time to save his rebellious Robin in Ethiopia. In another universe, Batman would kill the Joker after he died and instead of the scar-torn man Jason would become, the green-eyed teen could come home with unsoiled hands, clean from the rot of death left behind by his every move. Maybe in another universe, there was no Batman but just Bruce Wayne and Jason Todd, father and son against the world. In another universe, maybe–

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

There was too much of the could’ve, should’ve, and would’ve whenever he lingered on the memories of the last few years, of the shattered hope and absence of security that left an aching hole inside his chest.

Jason slowly shifted around until he hit the bumpy stone, his back sliding down his grave. He ignored the splattering of mud when he hit the ground, body much too numb as he half-heartedly pressed a hand against the stream of blood.

With the latest Arkham breakout, everything he had painstakingly built around him had come crashing down. He wasn’t naive enough to think that his relationship with all the Bats had been anything but tentative at best – but after tonight? When he had beaten the Joker bloody with his knuckles and a crowbar, finally ending the bastard’s life with several shots to the head on a live-stream for the world to see?

He wouldn’t be able to stay in Gotham, not if he ever wanted to see the outside world ever again.

The one time he wished the Lazarus Pit would make an appearance in his thoughts, it chose to remain silent, his old companion passing no judgment on tonight’s choices. Instead, he was…empty. It was quiet. He didn’t know how to feel about it.

Jason turned to the rumbling sky. He closed his eyes, cherishing the sensation of rain cascading over him like a shower. As it washed away the grime of the city and the blood soaking his armor and hair, he liked to think that the water was finally cleansing him of the sins that stained his body like the gunpowder that lingered on his fingertips.

He would never look back on his actions tonight with regret, even if it resulted in severing any and all ties to everything he had ever known. The price would be the city, its people, his home, but it was worth it – it had to be. That clown would never hurt him or his…the Bats, he corrected in his mind, ever again. If this was the last thing he ever did on this miserable planet, then he could die content. Not happy but...satisfied. He would never regret the Joker’s death, only that it took him so long to do it.

“…That was grim,” he mumbled to no one in particular in response to his thoughts.

He took a good look at himself: drenched in a disgusting mixture of blood, water, and mud, the various cuts and burns peeking out through the holes in his armor did not bode well for his near future if he didn’t tend to them now - not to mention the massive gaping wound in his stomach. 

He shifted his hand to take a peek at it. While the blood flow seemed to have slowed down significantly, Jason wasn't going to be coming back from this wound without immediate care, even with his Lazarus-induced healing factor. It was a miracle he managed to get to the cemetery at all.

"...Man, fuck the Joker," he groaned, trying to sit up. 

The universe despised him, it seemed, because of course it would be the Joker who would end up as the final arbiter in the metaphorical choices that controlled his life: past or future? Family or loneliness? Life or death? Forehand or backhand? 

A or B?

What Jason understood now that he hadn’t known back then was that it was always going to be down to two choices – that no matter which iteration of the bird, it would always come back to Robin and the Joker like a revolting circle. Not even Robin’s death had put a stop to the suffering at the hands of the Joker; it was a toxic cycle that could only be broken by the death of that psychotic clown.

Two years ago had been between Jason and the Joker, and Batman had made his choice; in fact, he buried it as the building collapsed onto Jason. This time, he couldn’t let Tim be crushed by the weight of the failures of their pseudo-father figure as he had. This time, he had chosen for Bruce, no matter how selfish the decision – and as Jason once promised, there would be no more dead Robins.

Only dead clowns.

Because no matter what, everyone craved safety in their life – a life built upon the pillars of stability which Jason never could truly have in Gotham. He could lie to himself all he wanted under the facade of a vigilante but a cheap structure built by a foundation of lies meant that his murderer could easily destroy any resemblance of a home with a mere cackle.

Every. Fucking. Time.

He was so tired of it, exhausted by the fear that followed his every step for every hour the Joker was out there, behind bars or not. He was tired of the anger that burned through him at even the slightest mention of the clown, of the burning rage that made him forget to pull his punches, to aim his bullets at the knees of thugs instead of their chests. He was so tired of being slowly drained every second of every goddamn day when all the Joker did was take, take, and take – from him, from the Bats, from everyone.

Tonight had been the breaking point for Jason’s tolerance of the clown. It had started off like any other, with him getting ready for patrol when the news alert went out across Gotham – an Arkham breakout with the worst of the Rogues making his escape into the city.

As with every Arkham breakout involving Joker, Oracle sent him a prerecorded voice memo telling him to stay put and off the streets, mechanized voice a little too strained even to his ears. He picked up on her stress and fear, reminding him that he wasn’t the only victim of the clown’s rampage of terror through Gotham.

But even though the Joker was out, Jason ignored the order. The Bats weren’t allowed into his territory and he had no plans on leaving it, and the strays from the asylum were out in full force in Crime Alley threatening everyone. This was his territory; his home and his people to protect. If he didn’t stop them, who would? The other vigilantes of Gotham weren’t allowed in Crime Alley without his explicit permission and it was an unspoken rule that the Bats surprisingly followed.

Recently when the vigilantes got notice of Joker waltzing his way out of the revolving doors of Arkham Asylum, he would be back in within a matter of days without wreaking much havoc unlike his typical self. Everyone had been on edge for the past year because of this, just waiting for the other shoe to drop in true Joker fashion. But nothing had happened. Instead, he would be caught, cuffed, and thrown into jail – rinse and repeat. Everyone would dust their hands of the clown and wait again for the next breakout, dreading what his next grand scheme would be.

During the bad breakouts, when Batman’s attention was stretched thin with dozens of cases and he didn’t have time to focus on just the clown – those were the only days Red Hood would be found openly working alongside everyone, donning a temporary red bat symbol. After all, every Gothamite knew he never left Crime Alley save for anything other than what he deemed necessary.

He was stubborn, not suicidal.

Something in Jason had told him tonight was different, though, and his instincts had been right. From the beginning of patrol, eyes were on him. He felt the prickling sensation of his every move being watched, every gunshot and punch he made ticking off some sort of list. Perhaps it was his upbringing, specialized training, or his paranoia, but he had an eerie sense of knowing when someone was stalking him. The hairs on the back of his neck would stand, an itching sensation of being tracked throughout the slums of the city.

Tonight had also been the worst night though, an opportune moment for anyone to go after him because Arkham breakouts with the Joker meant his mind would play tricks on him. He was trigger-happy and afraid – and because he was stupid, instead of investigating further he dismissed the paranoia as just a figment of his imagination. He repeated it like a mantra throughout the night but it did nothing to relieve the growing ball of stress because something kept telling him something was wrong. The sensation was different from when Oracle followed him through her cameras. This was altogether something else – someone else.

However, an uneventful few hours went by in silence, only the pained cries and groans from the criminals he caught his companion through the night. His first real connection to the Bats came when there was a sudden burst of static in his ear, Oracle’s familiar voice ringing throughout the helmet. Her heavily synthesized tone urged him to go home – again. Demanded it of him, in fact, because everyone else seemingly had everything under control.

“I’m calling your bluff O,” Jason huffed, lowering the gun that had been pointed at an unconscious thug in an empty alleyway as the safety clicked back on. “What happened? Why are you so desperate for me to turn in for the night?”

“Nothing.” He heard the telltale keys clacking away as she repeated like an automated robot for him, once again, to go home. “Everything’s being taken care of.”

He was starting to get annoyed. “I know when you’re lying to me,” he said, shoving his gun into one of his many holsters before pulling out a zip tie. “Tell me what the fuck happened before I go searching on my own.”

There was a tense second of silence. “Hood–” Before she could say anything though, an alert caught his attention.

“Give me a sec.” His helmet’s hardware was hooked into his phone’s notification system to, well, notify him of anything – courtesy of one Timothy Drake. Thanks to the nerdy teen, he no longer had to carry around his expensive touchscreen during patrols. Tim didn’t really do anything special, just installed a small alert and reminder at the corner of the helmet’s interface, but it served him quite well so far. After breaking over a dozen plus on patrols and stakeouts, it had saved him thousands of dollars on replacements. Nowadays, he opted to carry around a cheap flip phone in case anyone really needed to get a hold of him – but he had broken the burner he’d been using the past few weeks and didn’t feel like going out to get one just for the night.

Hence, the smartphone in his pocket tonight.

“Wait, you brought your phone? Shit, you never–” He heard an uptick in typing but he ignored her, opting to pull the offending item out of his pocket. The screen lit up and he saw that Gotham Gazette had sent out a notification that–

When he read it, green instantly filled his vision. He gripped his phone a little too tightly, cracking the screen in his gloved hand. Without hesitation, he punched the brick wall to the side of him, reveling in the pain radiating off his knuckles. He heard Oracle calling out to him, even going so far as to use his name.

He ignored it.

“You knew,” he growled instead, an eerily familiar ringing in his ears growing in strength. “You knew and didn’t tell me. What, you were going to let me find out on my own once I ended patrol when I turned on the news? What the fuck?”

“Please, I…” She sighed and he could imagine her right now, sitting alone at her set up in the Clocktower, computer screens lit up and feeding her information. “B gave out an order,” she finally admitted.

“I should’ve been told!” he roared. “If anything, I could’ve kept an eye out for anything, a set of new eyes! Hell, I could’ve asked around while beating up the Joker gang!”

“Don’t you yell at me, Hood. I was against it from the beginning, okay? I told B hiding it from you wasn’t a good idea but he wouldn’t listen to me – to anyone, actually.”

“A fat lot of good that did.”

“This reaction? It’s why he didn’t want you to know and I’m beginning to think he was right.”

A dark laugh escaped his control and he heard the typing on the other end take a pause. "Ouch, that hurt, O. Glad to know where you stand on this."

"I didn't–"

"How long?” he interrupted, not in the mood to hear excuses on how no one wanted to tell him. “How long has that fucking freak had Tim?” He felt his leather gloves straining as his fists tensed even more with every second that passed. 

There was a sigh before Oracle whispered, “...We think for a few days. But–”

With that, Jason slapped the side of his helmet, cutting their conversation as he took a moment to breathe because–

Because he just needed to breathe–

Tim–

The Joker had Tim. The Joker had Tim.

The worst part was that no one told him. It hurt that no one trusted him enough to let him know that Tim had been fucking kidnapped.

Jason forced his hand to unclench as he turned the screen back on, aggressively tapping on the notification to bring him to the Gazette article.

Breaking News: Joker kidnaps Red Robin and streams torture online.

The ever-constant whine in his ears intensified and–

Jason blacked out.

Chapter Text

When Jason came to, he was in an unfamiliar alleyway, head in between his legs as he sat with his back against a dumpster, a dozen thugs on the ground around him in various states of consciousness. He himself was breathing heavily, panting from what must have been the fight as his now bare hands trembled from the last remnants of adrenaline.

Feeling suffocated, he quickly unlocked and threw off his helmet, the ringing in his ears growing worse with every second. He shook his head, sweat splattering around him, but the cool air did little to alleviate his growing stress. He had to close his eyes, clenching and unclenching his fists in an attempt to distract from the growing headache.

“Shit.”

This wasn’t good – this wasn’t good. He hadn’t had an episode like that in a while. The last had been when a stupid fucking amateur magician decided to play around with whatever magic that had been left in him by his resurrection, accidentally triggering the Lazarus rage. It had been a miracle he hadn’t beaten the kid where he stood, only stopped by electrocution via an Escrima stick. It had taken him months afterward to get a handle on the anger before he trusted himself enough not to beat someone within an inch of their life with his bare hands.

“Fucking shit.”

But he didn’t have time for freaking out right now. He had to figure out–

Figure out…what, exactly? How to save Tim? By himself?

Jason would’ve snorted if the circumstances didn’t warrant otherwise. After one quick check of his weapons, he found himself nearly out of ammo, which meant he’d have to hit one of his safehouses to stock up if that was the course of action. He’d then have to be smart, avoid the main safehouses that the Bats knew about even if that meant sacrificing some of his better gear. If he got caught, he’d be trapped, unable to escape from any safehouse until they determined otherwise. He didn’t bother entertaining the idea of sneaking into the cave for weapons either because they’d lock him in one of the rooms of the manor – or even worse, one of the cells because they all were afraid of what he’d do otherwise, because he’d kill–

Gritting his teeth, he pressed his palms against his eyes, pushing the green he hadn’t noticed creeping into the edges of his vision down.

No, maybe he should go back to one of his safehouses. He’d…He’d be safe there, it was in the goddamn name. He didn’t want to kill anyone and he sure as hell didn’t want the Joker to find him either–

But Tim. He needed to find Tim. Save the stupid kid from the clown because if anyone had to dirty their hands with the blood of Gotham’s worst, it had to be him. He took out the trash that the Bats never could, going after the criminals in places Batman never ventured into due to their differentiating morals because he was the monster in their fucked up dynamic. To keep them all safe he’d do what was necessary and if that meant putting a bullet right between the clown’s eyes, then so be it.

With a sniff, Jason leaned forward and grabbed his helmet. He spared a second to stare at himself in the red; even with the grime coating it, he saw how his eyes glowed, the blood splattered all over him. His white streak hung limp and flat, nearly hiding his eyes – but he saw how afraid and small he looked.

He quickly dropped it onto his lap. He reached for his cargo pocket, feeling the familiar heavy weight of his phone. It was a little worse for wear but still functional nonetheless; the cracks had splintered off into even tinier glass shards with parts now missing entirely. He turned the home screen on, only to see dozens upon dozens of messages from nearly every member of the Bats, but he ignored their notifications to go straight to the internet. It hadn’t taken long to find that some creep had posted a link to the stream and in a matter of minutes, he was on the forum site being featured in the Joker’s twisted live video.

“–oh, little red, won’t you play along?”

Tim hung off ropes by his wrist, body limp as he swayed, boots barely scraping against the concrete floor. Blood dripped from his nose and mouth but his domino remained on his face unbroken, hiding his identity and those expressive blue eyes of his. Jason saw several marks of torture on the poor kid’s body, a variety of burns and cuts and wounds exposing unnaturally pale skin. Not to mention…was that white face paint?

“Some of those bruises have to be over a week old,” Jason growled, his anxiety growing in strength at the several unknowns. “A few days my ass.”

“Your precursor was so much more fun, you know that? Wait, of course you do, you little pretender!” Jason’s breath hitched, Red Robin twitching at those words. “But you know what? I’ve got more planned for you, oh yes I do. You see, I’ve gained a new friend, a…partner, if you will.” The Joker cackled, hands clasping together. “I really think you’ll like this one, my teeny tiny little birdie. We’ve been together for a while! She’s downright lovely and she’s on a little mission right now for me, so we’ll be seeing her soon!” Tim’s mouth moved but his voice was too faint for the camera to pick up. Whatever he said seemed to anger the Joker though, because the clown suddenly backhanded him, causing the teen’s head to fly back. “Now, that’s no way to talk to your dear ol’ Pops, is it? Jeez, kids these days, am I right? So spoiled! No respect for authority – the other Boy Blunders had better manners than you and that’s including the dead one.”

…What?

“That’s right!” Joker turned back around to the camera, a close-up of his eyes before pulling away to show his twisted face, spittle flying out from his cracked painted-over lips. “Next up: one big happy family! It’s gonna be downright nuclear because Momma’s gonna be here with our special guest, HA–”

Jason threw his phone down the dark alleyway in an attempt to escape the laughter but the cackles bounced all around him, screaming into his ears, into his brain and he wouldn’t be able to escape and everything hurt and please–

No, he couldn’t fall down this rabbit hole. He wouldn’t. He…he needed a plan?

But he couldn’t think properly.

What–

He needed–

A poem.

He needed a poem.

The first one that popped into his head spilled out of him, quiet and jumbled. “M-Move him…i-into the s-sun,” Jason started murmuring, “Gently its…t-touch? It’s t-touch a-awoke him…o-once, a-at home, w-whispering…of f-fields half-sown.” He rocked back and forth with his head in his hands, going through the motions of reciting memorized poems as a method of grounding him in moments he was in danger of spiraling. “Always it w-woke him, even in France, u-until this morning and this snow...”

Although Futility was a grim poem, by the end of the third repeat Jason felt stable enough – emphasis on enough. He pushed himself off the ground, a hand holding onto his helmet like a lifeline. He didn't have all the time in the world to thoroughly check how sound his mental state currently was. That would have to be a later problem.

He had only walked a few feet when he stepped on something that broke with a loud crack echoing down the alleyway. Quickly moving his foot out of the way, his eyes narrowed in on the offending plastic. He bent down to pick it up but stopped halfway when he finally noticed several other shattered pieces scattered all around him.

Clear evidence of a fight if the several unconscious thugs around him hadn’t given it away.

He turned his attention back to the broken plastic his hand hovered over. Move, he thought, why aren’t you moving? It was just trash, he shouldn't have cared so much about it. So why, then, couldn’t he move his hand away? Why was he getting so caught up about it? A second ago, he hadn’t even noticed all the pieces around him because it should’ve been nothing of importance – but now his mind wouldn’t stop circling back to that damned piece of synthetic trash.

Why couldn't he just shrug it off and walk away?

He could just feel the irritation simmering under his skin, making him even antsier. One second of internal debate later, he finally gave in to his impulses and turned back around, storming over to the only unbroken plastic he could see and flipping it over with the toe of his boot. His breath hitched, recognizing it immediately.

“...Oh.”

Joker Gang masks.

So this was what he had gone after.

“You’re fucking…crazy.” Jason’s head whipped to his right. A man lay on his chest hidden in the shadow of the dumpster, trying to sit up with one arm, his other laying beneath him.

Jason was taken aback by the sudden rage that flowed through him at those words. He should’ve been used to having his sanity questioned but by a man like this? A sadistic freak who followed the Joker during his torture sprees through the city?

He had no fucking right.

“The fuck you just say to me?” This was a special kind of anger that burned hot in his chest.

The guy’s eyes widened at the intensity behind the question but instead of the fear Jason was accustomed to seeing, the man kept staring at him with that crazed expression in his eyes from whatever drug the Joker handed out to his crew. He was obviously lacking a sense of self-preservation at the moment, his stupid frontal lobe undoubtedly silent in his reckless decision to egg on a literal crime lord known for chopping people's heads off.

“...I – I ain’t t-telling you…shit, you c-crazy freak.” The goon gave up on trying to sit up, started crawling away from Jason. Hmm, maybe not all of the idiot’s survival instincts were obsolete. “Y-You won’t get anything f-from me.”

The vigilante tried desperately to recall what he had done during his fugue state but was pulling a blank. But with the shattered Joker masks, the brutally battered gang members, and the broken arm the only conscious thug was sporting, it didn’t take a genius to put two and two together, to see that he had been searching for any sort of information on where Tim was being held.

All at once, an eerie calm fell over Jason. His racing thoughts, his guilt over the blackout – none of it mattered anymore, the little voice in him silent because he had the jackpot of information laying right in front of him.

At this realization, his lips slowly curled into a menacing smile.

“Nothing, huh?” He stalked over to the man. “Not even a tiny crumb?”

“You…?” Blood dripped down the corner of the man’s mouth, brows furrowed in confusion. “I’m loyal, unlike…you.”

Jason squatted down, relishing in the man’s flinch at his sudden proximity. “Yeah? I’m assuming you know who I am, my reputation – all eight heads of them. You also did just see me recite Futility by Wilfred Owen like, three times, because I would’ve gone insane otherwise.” He paused, tilting his head. “According to you, after all, I’m the crazy one, right? So riddle me this – how can I be unloyal when there’s no one to be loyal to?”

“I…” The man eye’s flickered to the red helmet in Jason’s hand before he suddenly twitched. “Ha! Ha-ha!” It took all of Jason’s willpower not to jump from the insane cackling – a symptom of the Joker gas. “You’re t-trying to scare m-me but i-it won’t work, n-not anymore.” The corners of the goon’s mouth twitched as his grin grew, yellow teeth shining bright red with blood. “You d-don’t kill anymore! You’re…so soft, so – ha-ha – w-weak! After all, you don’t jump w-without…asking the Bat how h-high! So there’s your answer!” The man began to giggle, uncontrollable tics and laughter driven by madness. “Bat’s got…you on a leash…like his – his l-little bitch!”

Jason swiftly pulled out his Glock and aimed it at the man’s head, safety clicking off.

“Oh?” He was on autopilot, body acting before his brain could truly process what was happening. “I do whatever the fuck I want. You see any Bats here? You see me wearing that fucking Bat symbol on my chest?” He dug the barrel into the guy’s forehead even harder, twisting it around, taking pleasure from the flicker of terror that finally appeared on the goon’s face. “Now, you will tell me whatever I want to know when I ask, and you want to know why?” His smile was dark and cruel and behind the lensless domino he wore, his unnatural green eyes glowed brightly in the dark. “Because death is a mercy”—he whispered in a hushed tone, brushing the man’s hair away from his face with the barrel of his gun—“compared to what I’m about to do to you.”

With no forewarning, Jason swiftly pulled out one of his many combat knives and stabbed it into the man’s soft hand, twisting it mercilessly, severing one of three major nerves.

For the next half hour, the shrieking and screaming from the alleyway grew and grew until it reached a peak, soon dying down to wordless groans and gurgles. By the time Jason was done with him, the gang member was a sopping mess of blood, sweat, and piss. He proceeded to drag the limp body across the filthy concrete with one hand, ruthlessly kicking aside the still unconscious Joker Gang members in his way.

He emerged an imposing figure out of the shadows of the building into yellow light while wearing his infamous helmet, reflecting the flickering glow of the nearest lamppost. He flung the man in the direction of the street, where he tumbled a bit until finally rolling onto his back just shy of the sidewalk's edge, freshly wounded chest wide open to reveal what the vigilante had done.

Jason stared at the pathetic man who was blubbering something about his mother.

He blinked.

Looked at the apartments across the road with all their lights off, watching as someone pointed to him before hastily closing the blinds.

He blinked.

Turned back to the man, whose blood trickled out of his mouth and the various wounds across his body.

He blinked.

The green film over Jason’s vision flickered before vanishing and in a split second, he whirled around to sprint back to the alleyway, ripping off his helmet to empty his stomach before he puked in it. The ringing in his ears was back in full force and combined with the retching sounds, it was damn near overwhelming. Only when the nausea finally passed was he able to put together a coherent thought, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His head fell forward with a quiet groan, forehead digging painfully into the uneven bricks.

…This wasn’t good.

Even during his time with the League, resorting to torture had always left an uneasy taste in his mouth, a near-overwhelming sense of guilt no matter how many times he did it. Though it had been easy to bury the guilt beneath the Lazarus’s influence and training, it never sat well with him. The overwhelming unease was only one of several symptoms he now felt when he resorted to it, the aftereffects of torturing someone worsening the longer he spent away from the poisonous rage. His head felt stuffed with cotton, thoughts drowning in the buzzing in his brain that allowed almost no room for rational thoughts.

Even so, questions slipped through the cracks: why had he even done it, resorting to one of the absolute worst possible methods imaginable to obtain the information he needed? He wasn't the same Red Hood who tore his way through Gotham's underbelly four years prior – his violent impulses were rare and far in between these days, his earlier reputation having cemented his notoriety over Gotham.

He couldn't...he couldn't just walk away from this brutality like it was nothing.

From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the severity of the wounds he had inflicted.

“Oh, fuck.”

Horrified of what he had done, Jason spun back around and puked up what little remained in his stomach.

This time, he waited until his stomach settled before he felt strong enough to stand straight on his own two feet. In the back of his mind, he knew he was just...distracting himself from his earlier actions, but he just didn't want to face what he had done – not yet. He just…he needed a few minutes. So when he noticed that some of his vomit had splattered onto his boots, he found himself distracting himself by complaining about it.

He sniffed, his nose running. That’s gross, he thought, scrubbing the steel-toed boots with his sole.

Trying desperately to get rid of the sour taste from his mouth, he ran his tongue over his teeth. After one last glob of spit, he took in a deep breath of the polluted Gotham air; it may have been filthy and filled with something that definitely made people go mad, but its familiarity helped settled his high-strung nerves nonetheless.

It was when he went to go pick up his helmet he froze, his hands hovering in the air catching his attention. Nearly every bare patch of skin was red with blood, sticky and half-dried with crimson flakes settled in between the wrinkles and fingernails. Nausea reared its ugly head once more as his mind jumped to the crying and screaming and begging–

Deep breath in, deep breath out–

Third time’s a charm, he sardonically thought a split-second before the acidic burn rushed up through his throat. All that came up was yellow bile this time, nothing remaining in his stomach for his body to properly expel.

He cringed at the disgusting sour taste in his mouth, desperately in need of water to just rinse it out. He didn’t have any though, and alongside that was an overwhelming desire to cry – but he also had no time for that. He was wasting enough as it was just trying to deal with his fuck up. He needed to find Tim and Joker so he could put a fucking bullet through the psychopath’s brain, ending it once and for all. The longer Joker had Tim, the worse it would be for them all.

He wiped at his palms before moving on to desperately scrubbing them on the material of his pants. He was somewhat successful, almost done when a faint thud from above stopped him in his tracks. It was purposeful, deliberate, a show by someone to let him know they were there.

Now what?

“Hey, Lil’ wing.”

Oh shit.

Fucking fuckity fuck, of course Batman would send goddamn Nightwing to try to talk to him.

With some footsteps and probably some fancy flips, said hero gracefully landed beside him. The man was looking a little worse for wear but nothing too out of the ordinary during an Arkham breakout – and he purposefully ignored the part of him that voiced its relief that Dick was okay.

“Leave me alone,” Jason grumbled, avoiding Nightwing’s gaze as he ceased his frantic wiping, his back to the Bludhaven hero. He definitely needed to get a grip on himself because this situation needed to be remedied like, yesterday.

“You heard Oracle earlier, right?” He stayed mute. “Can you please call it a night?”

Jason needed to keep him away from the entrance to the alleyway, away from the man he had tortured earlier. He couldn’t let Nightwing find out what he had done - he wouldn't be able to face the hero's questions and judgement, not without crumbling under the guilt.

He didn't have time, not when the Bats were out there in full force trying to apprehend Joker.

“And what?” Shit, his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. He crossed his arms before finally turning around hoping he’d hidden it in time. “Let those freaks run amok through Crime Alley?” He had to keep his composure, giving the impression that he wasn’t planning on murdering his…murderer. He only needed to make it seem as if his earlier call with Oracle had been a weak moment of frustration. Nothing more, nothing less. His anxiety may have roared like a beast in a cage but the last thing he wanted was the Bats to find out about his plans. “Nah, pass man.”

…Shit, he was really going to kill the Joker, wasn’t he?

“Go home,” Nightwing said again. His annoying brother, which he said loosely, extended a gloved hand toward him, stopping a hair's breadth away from his arm. “We’ve got this under control. I’ll even go through Crime Alley, take care of the criminals here.”

“No.” He couldn’t help but feel a pang of betrayal when he noticed the other man’s other hand wrapping around his Escrima at his tone. “Stop– stop treating me like some feral animal in a cage, okay? I’m fine.”

“Hood–”

“Oh, it’s Hood now?” He was unable to hide the snark from his tone, even if Nightwing didn’t respond to the jab. “I’ll admit that earlier with O was a fluke, okay? Jeez, I swear it won’t happen again,” he said, breaking the uncomfortable silence moments later. He made an effort to exude an air of indifference, careful to keep an eye on those iconic sticks that the blue-themed hero loved wielding. There was enough electricity flowing through them that they’d knock him out in a heartbeat if he wasn’t careful enough. He knew from experience; he had been on the opposite ends of those sticks more times than he liked.

“…And what about Red Robin?” Nightwing asked while continuing to stare at him, clearly not trusting the younger man. “You think I don’t notice the several unconscious thugs around me? The broken Joker masks? The vomit right next to you?” He threw both hands out. “Dude, what the hell happened here?”

Jason just shrugged. “A fight?”

Dick shot him an unamused look. He proceeded to let out a heavy sigh and Jason felt like wincing at how worn out the older man seemed to be. Hell, of course he’d be. Dick was undoubtedly distressed over Tim's disappearance just like they all were, but he also forgot just how much Dick would shoulder Bruce’s burdens and responsibilities even when he shouldn't have to. Bruce relied too much on his oldest in Jason's opinion but who was he to judge? His opinion was seldom asked for and more times than not, ignored.

“...Are you okay, at least?”

Taken aback, Jason felt his eyes widen just the tiniest amount. “I…” His arms fell to his side as he looked away, grumbling, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“I care about you." Nightwing grabbed a hold of his forearm. "You’re my little brother, I’m going to worry. Especially now with everything going on with the Joker and Red Robin.”

“Worried about – dude, that should be my line. How are you holding up?” Jason looked at the hand connecting them. Now that he thought about it, when was the last time the two of them had a conversation unrelated to their vigilante lifestyle? He had always erred on the side of caution when he was around him, never really talking about anything other than patrol, too familiar with a side of Dick that no one other than Bruce and Alfred seemed to know. While he had once regarded the first Robin with awe – as did most children of Gotham during his tenure – after his resurrection, its ensuing chaos, and hesitant truce with the Bats, Dick never shied away from his distrust of Red Hood.

And the thing was that Jason knew this caution was warranted, but it was bittersweet to see him act the way he did around the younger Bats as a brother figure for them to look up to – because he had been there during those early days of Nightwing, during the intense screaming matches between Bruce and his oldest that would have both men fighting and slamming doors. In fact, the person Jason first met was a spiteful college student searching for independence, someone who definitely wanted nothing to do with the strange child his adoptive father had brought home and handed his beloved mantle of Robin over to. Dick had been vindictive and just...mean, straight-up an asshole of the nth degree, and while he was obviously no longer the same person Jason had met, somewhere behind the dad jokes and the warm smiles and hugs still lay the angry person he couldn’t help but remember.

“Do you…do you guys need any help?” He tried asking but the deadpan stare was an answer enough, to which he responded by holding both hands up. “Okay, fine, I won’t ask about Red Robin to see if you guys have got anything new to share.”

Nightwing continued staring but Jason refused to meet his eyes, his hair casting a shadow over his eyes. While suspicious of his unwillingness to look at him, Dick was the first to back down from the strange not-staring match. He proceeded to let out a sigh. With it, all the tension in the older man’s body suddenly bled away and he moved to stand at Jason’s side, back hitting the brick building.

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah, and I’m the fucking easter bunny.” That got a small smile, at the very least. “We both know you’re burning both ends right now just trying to keep up with everything.”

Nightwing ran a hand through his hair. “...I am. B’s being…well,” he shot Jason a look, “you know how he is. Won’t listen to anyone but himself.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice.” Jason reached down to pick up his helmet, tucking it under his arm. He then proceeded to reach into his pocket for a cigarette, watching as Nightwing stiffened until his eyes fell on the tiny box, recognizing the Marlboro reds. Naturally, Jason scowled at the reaction and Dick noticed, throwing him a guilty look. “Any news you want to share about Red?” he decided to ask a few seconds later, voice slightly obstructed by the cigarette in his mouth as he tried lighting it. “Any idea where Joker has him?” Although he had his doubts that Dick would be willing to share any information with him, it was still worth a shot.

Much to Jason's surprise, while Nightwing looked conflicted something must have won out in him – or perhaps Dick was just too tired to really care because he merely shook his head in response. “No. Oracle hasn’t managed to trace the IP of the stream yet. Still trying, but...” Rubbing his forehead, he turned to Jason. “We’ve got jack shit.”

“Oh, don’t let the baby bat hear you.” The smoke soon filled Jason’s lungs and he held it in for a second before exhaling, the smoke rising up to the gloomy night sky. The familiar nicotine washed over him, the rush momentarily calming his tremors and anxieties as the smokiness helped mask the vile taste of bile that lingered.

“Ha-ha, very funny.” Nightwing scratched his arm. “But seriously, will you please listen when we say stay away from this case? We’ve got it handled–”

“–I…” Both of them whipped their head to the unconscious man, where his cries echoed loud in the alleyway. The man was beginning to stir, soft cries and painful groans increasing by the second. “–l-line…”

“What’s he saying?”

Jason’s heart began to race. “I don’t know.” Shit.

Nightwing shot him a look, though, that made it clear that he didn’t believe Jason. The tension between the two vigilantes shot up as Dick approached the Joker thug. He knelt down, a hand hovering over the man when the gang member suddenly gasped awake. Bloodshot eyes shot open, clearly disoriented and confused by both pain and what was most likely a concussion.

Jason couldn't move, his legs refusing to cooperate even though he needed to get out of here right now.

“I-I don’t–” The man began to sob, eyes fixated on nothing as he began to babble incoherently. “S-She’ll kill m-me…R-Robin…Red–” He tried to lift his arm towards Nightwing. “P-Please…I-I don’t….Punch–” Before the vigilante could question him though, the thug's body suddenly twitched and his eyes rolled back, going limp.

Much to Jason’s relief, he was still breathing.

Unfortunately, Nightwing’s response to this was instantaneous as he whirled around, muscles tight. “You’re back to torturing people?” he growled, getting back to his feet again, his tone becoming more defensive with each passing second. “For what – information about Red Robin? We have protocols about shit like this!”

Jason briefly considered lying but what would be the point? The answer to Dick's question was obviously laying right in front of them and he’d be stupid to try and lie his way out of this. The moment to remedy the situation had passed. “So what if I did?” he countered even though it pained him to act as if it wasn't bothering him.

“So– so what? Do you hear yourself? Look at him – you could’ve killed him!” Jason took a step backward toward the shadows of the alleyway when Nightwing moved forward. Before he could somehow defend his actions though, the older man abruptly froze, muscles going still. He watched as the Bludhaven vigilante slowly reached for the Escrima sticks on his back, loosening his knees in a position that would allow him to spring forward or backward at any moment. “Show me your eyes.”

“Excuse me?”

“Hood, show me your eyes.”

Despite all that had happened tonight, Jason still found enough energy to be angry. Who the fuck had he been trying to fool? Of course they wouldn’t let him deal with this shit on his own. Fucking Batman and his overbearing rules.

“I haven’t killed anyone if that’s what you were fucking insinuating.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Nightwing talked slowly, acting as if– as if Jason was dangerous. “Do you even realize how green your eyes are? They’re glowing.”

“Yeah, Arkham breakouts with that fucking clown do that to me. If you don’t recall, he murdered me?” Jason let out a dark laugh. “Call it a defense mechanism, I don’t really care.”

“Then you really need to sit this one out, call it a night.”

“Fucking this again? I’m not–” Jason felt the anger growing hotter in his chest. “None of you guys even bothered to tell me Red Robin was fucking kidnapped. I don’t know if you watched that live feed but that fucking clown has had Red for over a week at least, judging by those injuries. You think I can just sit here, twiddle my fucking thumbs and do nothing?”

“Batman–”

Jason took a heavy step forward out of the shadows, jamming a finger towards Nightwing – who in turn took a step back. “No, you don’t get to make any excuses for him. I’m so fucking sick and tired of this goddamn game; I’ve stuck to his rules – I haven’t killed anyone in two years and he still doesn’t trust me enough with shit like this. I’ve stayed in my little corner here in Crime Alley, I don’t leave the district without consulting you guys for missions, I even tag along like the good little soldier I am–”

“Please–”

“You guys always do this shit, keeping me boxed in a safe house while the Joker’s out and murdering innocent people–”

“The last thing we need is you making things worse!”

“Me?” Jason threw both hands up, shooting him an incredulous look. “I make things worse?” Sure, it was no secret that he harbored absolutely no restraint in his anger and frustration toward the Joker and his many crimes. It was a guarantee that he worsened the tension not only between him and Bruce but between everyone. “All I’m doing is trying to help–”

“Help?” Nightwing barked out a sharp laugh. “Now you’re suddenly filled with an overwhelming urge to help?”

Jason’s heart stopped. His heart was beating fast in his chest, the buzzing in his ears growing slowly but surely with every second that passed. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean?” he hissed. Surely, he didn’t mean…?

“You know exactly what the fuck I mean.” Nightwing bared his teeth. “After what you did to Red Robin I figured you would’ve cared less!” The moment the words left his mouth, everything around them went silent. The older man was panting, his own hands balled into fists while Jason felt…cold. His heart fell, the ball of anxiety in his stomach growing even tighter. “Shit, I didn’t mean–” What was visible of Nightwing’s face paled, realizing the gravity of his words. He immediately jumped into apologizing, scrambling to remedy the situation, but the damage was done. His mouth continued moving but the words weren’t registering in Jason’s mind. Instead, the vigilante just felt…tired.

He was aware that what he had done to Tim was a dark part of his past that he would never be able to forget or atone for, and he had to live the rest of his life with that weight. It was painful and heavy, but it was something he hadn’t forgiven himself for nor would until the day he died. He knew now that he never should’ve gone after Tim for simply being Robin, not when the young teen had nothing to do with the war between Red Hood and Batman.

He couldn’t take back all the injuries and taunts, though, could he? The desire to be seen by Batman, willing to take down anyone in his way.

God, he was so fucking stupid for ever believing that his actions since showed them how much he had changed – because he had. No matter what they said, he had worked on himself, worked on the obvious issues over his aggression and control. He got a hold on the Lazarus rage because it had been slowly suffocating him and for all his talk of death, he wasn’t willing to waste his second chance at life.

But nothing he did would ever be enough for them.

Jason took in one last breath of the nicotine-filled smoke into his lungs before dropping the cigarette, crushing it with the sole of his boot.

“Oh, you definitely meant it.” He shoved his helmet back on, grateful for the barrier between them because he couldn’t hide the resignation in his voice. “I don’t want to see you in Crime Alley, Nightwing.”

He had to go kill a clown, after all. He didn’t have time for this.

“Wait–” In one swift move, Jason pulled out his grapple gun and aimed it, pulling the trigger. “–Hood!” Nightwing’s cry rang throughout the night but he never looked back, his red helmet quickly disappearing into the darkness of the city.

Chapter Text

Once Jason felt that there was enough distance between him and Dick, he slowed down and came to a stop on the edge of some random apartment building roof. From there, he looked over the city, the lights flickering as he simply…stared. He shifted, the gravel crunching beneath his boots. The restless feeling that had fueled his escape from the Bludhaven vigilante had run its course, leaving behind a sense of…nothing. Was it apathy that had finally chosen to rear its ugly head – or perhaps it was a strange indifference to the entire situation? He knew himself best, understood that in most situations such as this, he most likely would’ve been freaking out, so it was strange of him to be feeling as calm as he could be. After all, before Dick had dropped in on him he had been freaking out.

Talking to Nightwing had cemented Jason’s plan though, confirming to him exactly what needed to be done. If there was ever a part of him that had the slightest sliver of doubt about his decision to kill Joker, that voice was now silent, hidden underneath the cacophony of thoughts that all agreed that the clown must die.

So with a deep breath, Jason jumped down onto the streets. He slipped down into the shadows, into the darkest places that even Oracle would struggle to search through. It was a familiar path that he had used daily while hiding from the Bats years ago – and now that he had a use for it again, he felt weird knowing that this once daily path he had taken through Gotham’s underground was not so well-worn now. There were turns he hesitated for a split second, areas that looked more damaged than before. He had gotten soft.

Along the way, he mournfully trashed his phone by dropping it into the sewer, knowing it would eventually ping his location once Oracle hacked through its security due to the fact he was using a Wayne Inc. phone. Sure, he destroyed the phone beyond repair, but he wouldn’t put it past Bruce to install some sort of tracking in it without his knowledge, the paranoid bastard he was. So it would buy him some time before the hounds descended on him – because every second counted now, time worth its weight in gold.

He stuck to the shadows until he climbed out of the disgusting sewer in front of a safehouse that Talia had set up for him years and years ago, from what felt like a different life – and in actuality, was a different life, one that he didn’t like reminiscing about.

From the outside, the apartment building was extremely outdated and old, but Jason was nothing if not tedious and maintained most of his ammo and gear in almost every safe house he had. So he knew he’d find everything he’d need as long as he wasn’t picky.

Once he finally disabled the traps and crossed the threshold into the apartment, he placed his helmet onto the decrepit kitchen counter, nose wrinkling from the dusty smell.

He had to be smart, careful about this. While he wanted to terrorize his way through the Alley – and elsewhere – to find Tim Red Hood style, he couldn’t. Torturing that man earlier would be the worst thing he would do tonight other than the murder of a man who had escaped a death sentence far too many times. The toll torturing was taking on him now wasn’t worth going through over a random stranger, not with how the Lazarus was simmering right beneath his skin, ready to burst out at a moment's notice.

Because not only did he have to worry about maintaining control over his anger, but he now had to worry about the Bats tracking him. Even with Nightwing on his ass, he still had to be concerned about that other tail on him. And with this third, strange tail, he knew he couldn’t rule out the Joker’s involvement. As crazy as Joker was, everything that freak ever did was extremely calculated. His plans were so often deranged enough to keep everyone guessing, unsure of his next move. The clown reveled in the carnage he sowed, in the chaos of the chase and subsequent aftermath.

Three things he had to put his attention aside to when finding Tim had to be his main priority.

Jason went straight to the bathroom, hands heavy with the stickiness of blood. He stared at his reflection, his fingers hovering over the faucet; the shadows of his face emphasized his sickly pale complexion, the dark bags causing his eyes to appear more sunken in. With the pitiful dim yellow light that flickered every few seconds, it only further emphasized the intensity of his eyes – no wonder Dick had frozen at the sight of them. But despite the irradiated green reflecting back, that dark, familiar voice inside him stayed silent, not uttering even a single hateful word. It was as if the Lazarus knew that Jason would soon exact his revenge, freeing it from the shackles he had forced onto himself.

He would soon be able to just…breathe.

Looking down, he quickly turned the faucet on and scrubbed away at the blood with the hottest water he could tolerate until his hands were raw. From there, he found an unopened travel kit with a toothbrush, quickly cleansing the disgusting aftertaste of vomit from his mouth. By the time he was finished cleaning up it was nearing the early morning hours but he felt more human, giving him enough energy to tackle his next major task – comparing the information he gleaned from the Joker Gang member with what he could dig up on Tim’s kidnapping.

He rummaged through the large fire safe box he kept underneath the floorboard of the studio apartment, within in several different passports and currency – and underneath those, a small laptop. Grabbing it, he moved over to the pitiful excuse of a couch, trying desperately to ignore the tickling of his nose from the dust that erupted from the cushions when he fell onto them.

This is where things got difficult because, for all of his various abilities, Jason was not a skilled hacker. Sure, Talia had sent him to one during his training who had taught him the bare basics but anything more was never added to his skill set. Besides, he had killed his teacher when he had found out that the man had used his skills to help poachers in wildlife trafficking, wracking up millions of dollars in the killing.

After that, Jason had simply delegated this task to others who were more suited to it so it wasn’t even an option for him to try and find the Joker’s location through the live-streaming site. If Oracle hadn’t been able to by now, then he never would.

He did pull up Joker’s stream anyway, where he saw that it was still offline–

“Welcome, welcome!”

Jason froze, the screen suddenly coming to life. The camera shook as the Joker…adjusted the lenses in what seemed to be an attempt at casualness to his viewers that made Jason want to put several holes through the computer screen. The Joker suddenly stepped back, revealing himself to the camera. He was as disgusting as ever with his bright green hair and stupid clown makeup smeared haphazardly on his face.

“Ah, it’s such a wonderful night, isn’t it?” He clapped his hands. “I’ve been busy, you see. I spent lots of time perfecting my gas, you know? But after a while, it just…” Joker looked up, a finger on his mouth as he pondered. “It ain’t fun! Gotta keep you on your toes, you know?” A maniacal smile slowly grew. In a dramatic fashion, he took a bow before moving to his right, revealing Tim to the world.

In just a short matter of hours, Tim looked like a different person. No longer hanging from the ceiling, he was tied to a chair, head bowed forward. The single lightbulb that lit up whatever room Joker had chosen was swinging precariously, causing shadows to hide Tim’s face from the camera.

“So of course I tested it on our resident Batsy!” The Joker grabbed Tim’s green hair and pulled him up, revealing his face.

“No,” Jason whispered. He had unnaturally pale skin from what he hoped was white face paint and not some sort of chemical bleach, unevenly dyed bright green hair and–

And–

The smile.

Jason reacted before he could think about it. He shot up from the couch, horrified, laptop clattering to the ground as quiet giggling rang throughout the apartment.

“Oh my god.” Jason felt all the blood rush out of his body, the image of Tim being turned into a copy of Gotham’s worst forever seared into his brain.

“It’s almost time for him to follow dear ol’ pops into Gotham, isn’t it?” Joker stood behind a still tied-up Tim, both hands resting on the older teen’s shoulders. “Say, Junior, why not say hi to the camera?”

Slowly, he looked into the lenses, and Jason could hear the hammering of his heart. There was still a clarity in his eyes despite the giggling and even with the demented smile, he heard Tim whisper, “F-Fuck…you.”

Joker’s face twisted before Tim’s head suddenly flew to the right, Joker backhanding him. The giggling grew into nauseating laughter too similar to the Joker’s. “Children these days, jeez Louise, am I right? Junior here still needs some more time baking in the oven, it seems.” His eyes met someone in the back and suddenly, the camera shut off, cutting the computer screen black.

Jason felt like puking again. God, this was…he had no words for this, too shocked at what he had just witnessed.

With a shaky hand, he picked up his laptop and sat back down. He found himself blankly staring at the website, cursor hovering over the Google search bar at the top. It was when he heard the start of rain hitting his window that his mind kickstarted itself, forcing him out of the fog blanketing his mind. Forcing himself to go over that entire stream would do him no good, only further the turmoil that was growing in his head.

So he looked back at his computer, his mind made up with his next course of action. That stream had showed him nothing in regard to location, and without access to the cave, he was on his own. He’d have to make do with whatever programs Talia had installed on this laptop to help aid him in his search for Tim and for information regarding his kidnapping, however long it might take.

Jason adjusted his posture on the couch, using a cushion as a makeshift table for his laptop.

He had a general sense of what he needed to check thanks to his actions from earlier. He knew the name of the one working with Joker – Punchline. The level of fear this woman had on the thug was enough to worry Jason because it didn’t seem like she was just Joker’s new arm candy – no, she was hands-on with the Joker gang, inciting enough fear in its members as a method of control over them. Truly it was a miracle that the thug even name-dropped her. Other than that though, he didn’t really have much more information. Maybe more than what the Bats knew but only by a few hours, if that.

So with that, Jason let himself…focus.

His first stop on this wonderfully terrible trip through computer software and firewalls was the disaster that was Arkham Asylum Security. Even with all the millions and probably billions of dollars that Bruce pumped into the place, within a half hour he was viewing recordings from the high-security wing that housed most of the Rogues.

It was pathetic how easily he broke through the firewall, really.

“What a waste of fucking money,” he complained to no one in particular, going through file after file of both old videos and live feeds until stopping when he found what he was searching for. His trembling finger hovered over the touchpad, heart hammering in his chest as he opened Joker’s dreaded file, stomach rocking with nothing but bile. While he had expected that ice-cold fear to rush through his veins, when he first saw the Joker turn to stare at the camera on the shitty quality recording, Jason immediately had to look away. He had to pause the video, to take a breath and steady himself, because just the sight of that freak was enough to bring Jason to the brink of his sanity.

It would take a few more minutes before he finally scrapped up enough courage to watch those recordings. He felt like he was floating above his body, his mind checked out while his body went through the motions of pausing and replaying on autopilot, trying to find any small detail that could help. He saw nothing abnormal other than whatever the Joker did when he was imprisoned, with his terrifying cackles and one-sided conversations with only himself as company.

Even in a straightjacket, the clown posed a threat to everyone.

But after a while, he began to notice something. The Joker would throw his head back and laugh and while it was something the clown did frequently, after the same actions a few more times, Jason knew something wasn’t right. There was something about the little…lag at the corner of the video that nagged at him – and after some sleuthing around for another half hour, satisfaction settled some of the high-strung nerves that had been fueled further by his concern.

The footage itself had been tampered with.

The clown had made his escape nearly a month ago. He had been gone for one fucking month and no one at Arkham had noticed.

What the fuck?

Jason, once again, paused the video with a slam of the spacebar, sinking deeper into the couch with a hand rubbing his eyes, trying desperately to think.

A month. Punchline. Red Robin. The stream. A…family?

Nothing was making sense.

A quick twelve hours had passed since the Joker first started his stream with Tim, so who knew how long it had really been since he had taken Red Robin. Oracle said that they all thought Tim had been taken a few days ago but who really knew? It could’ve been longer and none of them would’ve been the wiser.

Jason knew Tim liked to stick to himself most days, especially after his search for Bruce through the timeline and Damian’s unexpected introduction to the world as Robin. While Jason did get along with the younger boy these days, they weren’t really…close by any means, particularly due to how he had hurt Tim earlier during Red Hood’s reign, but they texted frequently, Tim was catching him up on everything from the years Jason had been…otherwise preoccupied. The music was good, the memes stupid, the movies interesting – and they still found time to see each other occasionally outside of vigilante business for coffee, so all of that had to count for something...right?

But now that Jason thought about it, when was the last time he spoke to the little shit? He couldn’t even grab his phone to check, having ditched it earlier, and he didn’t want to risk logging into his account online to recover messages in case it was being monitored.

So for all he could know, Tim could’ve been missing for much longer than any of them were aware, which made the situation so much worse – because who knew if those streams that the Joker were releasing were actually live? There was a chance that those videos could’ve been prerecorded, the change between Tim in those short hours too significant otherwise.

Without more information, Jason couldn’t make up his mind. With a dejected sigh, he tilted his head up to stare at his ceiling, placing his laptop to the side.

He heard something – or someone – right outside his window a few minutes later and so with a dejected sigh, he waited for the window to open. The proceeding footsteps…the slightest hitch of breathing, he didn’t have to guess who was behind him.

“Brat, if you’re trying to sneak up on me, forget about it,” Jason declared. “And close the window while you’re at it – you’re letting in the rain.”

A hitch in the breathing and the slam of the window later, the culprit slowly came around the corner over to his side.

“...Todd.”

Jason simply raised a brow at Damian, still clad in his Robin gear and dripping water all over the wooden floor. The kid was standing tense beside the couch and every few seconds, Jason saw his finger twitching the slightest – a nervous tick.

“For your sake, you better not have been followed.” Jason let his head fall back onto the top cushion, throwing an arm over his eyes. “I don’t have the energy to deal with anyone, let alone your overbearing father.”

“You’re not going to inquire how I figured out where you were?”

“No.” Because the moment he tried sneaking through that window, Jason knew that Talia must have told him about the safe house. “At least tell me if you asked your mom before or after B told you to stay away from the case.”

“As if it matters.” Damian pulled down his hood as he slowly sat beside Jason on the edge of the seat. “But if you must know, Mother told me about this safehouse months ago. Father does not know of its location.”

“Yeah, sure, and I’m supposed to take your word for it?”

“Tch.” Damian sunk further into the couch, crossing his arms. The tension between them was thick and Jason didn’t have the patience to tiptoe around it, not today.

“Kid, spit it out,” he barked.

“Grayson says you are…unwell. That the Lazarus has taken hold again–”

Jason removed his arm, slowly turning to the kid. “I’m guessing B’s blown another gasket over it, knowing the asshole–”

“That is Father you are speaking–”

“Oh, shut up, will you? B sucks. We all know it. He’s a tolerable asshole on a good day, un-fucking-bearable on every other.” He could tell the kid was growing angrier with every word, face turning red as his cheeks puffed up in that childish way that no one dared to tell him because they all feared for their lives. “...Fine,” Jason relented, throwing up both hands in surrender. He seriously didn’t have the patience to deal with a temper tantrum. “For your information, they just want to find a reason to excuse what I did.”

“And…is it? An excuse?”

Jason had to sit there, take a breath for a few seconds, thinking over the words. It would be so easy to rely on the Lazarus’s instability as a way to try to use it as an out for what he had done, but Jason wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t. Even with the toxic green sludge running through him, he remembered everything he did to that man earlier tonight, every stab and punch. It never failed to remind him what he was capable of and what he feared within himself.

It was who he was at his core, it seemed – a violent man who would undoubtedly meet a violent end.

“I won’t deny that I’m on edge right now, especially with everything going on, but what’s done is done. I beat that guy within an inch of his life. Can’t take it back now, can I?” He took a breath. “So no, not an excuse.” It was a reality.

Due to the domino, Jason couldn’t look Damian in his eyes but even so, he knew the kid was watching him. Out of everyone, Damian knew the effects of the Lazarus the most, nearly swimming in its waters years ago and watching his psychopathic grandfather go mad from the poison.

“I think…you are in control, as slim as it may be. Despite everyone’s fears, I like to think you know what you are doing.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Gee kid, thanks, that’s just what I needed to hear from an eight-year-old.”

“I’m thirteen!”

“Sure don’t look it–”

A dust-covered cushion hit Jason in the face, resulting in a coughing fit. But once it passed, he knew Damian was more relaxed, a little less high-strung than earlier.

A good thing, Jason thought.

He was fully aware of the tense relationship between the youngest Robin and Tim, knew better than to remark on it when emotions were running high. He couldn’t help but think that for all of his harsh comments and demeanor, Damian did care about Tim in his own very very strange way. After all, the boy had been raised by parents who were in no way ever winning the Parent of the Year award, so how was he to know what was normal and what wasn’t?

God, Jason knew his own childhood was fucked up – but Damian’s? With an assassin mother and a vengeful freak as a father? The kid had been born into this world with no chance of ever being normal, especially with his little planned playdates with the invulnerable super baby.

“So why are you here?” Jason couldn’t help but ask a few moments later. “I know it’s not a social call, Damian, so out with it.”

“I…” Damian began to fidget with his cape. “I won’t deny that I was…worried. If you are hurt in any manner, it sends Father down into a spiral that affects his ability to be Batman and in turn, protect Gotham.” Jason couldn’t help but scoff which seemed to be the wrong choice with how it incited Damian. “It’s true, Todd. You’re never there to witness his moods after your fights – only Dick or Alfred can speak sense in him.”

“And what do you want me to do about that? The man’s emotionally inept,” Jason grumbled while standing up. He walked over to the kitchen where his helmet lay, pushing it to the edge as he found an old, dusty glass to fill with water, where he took a long gulp of Gotham’s finest tap water after rinsing it.

“...Did you get anything out of that man earlier, at least?” Damian asked as he stared at the wall before him. “By the time the ambulance came to transport him to the hospital, he was far too gone to question.”

Jason found himself hesitating, his glass of water stopping halfway up. He needed to keep the Bats from figuring out he was going to kill the Joker but also knew that keeping information from them would be detrimental in their search for Tim. He refused to be one of the causes of the teen’s death at the hands of Joker all because of his own fear of consequences.

But as Damian sat on his couch, small and tiny like all Robin’s once were, Jason felt his heart pounding, throwing his entire body off kilter. For a moment, he saw his twelve-year-old self sitting there, eager and ready to take on the world for the protection of the innocent. He knew what it was like to wear the red, green, and yellow uniform, a false sense of invincibility as if nothing could ever hurt him – not even the Joker himself – because he was Robin.

Obviously, life had quickly corrected that line of thought, the memories of his life before now tainted by a mixture of trauma and fear. And his mind was perhaps one of his greatest enemies, it seemed, replacing those terrible memories of being tortured by the Joker in his Robin suit with Damian instead to hammer in his trauma.

Jason would never let that happen.

So as the young preteen sat in his safehouse, looking up at Jason with anticipation, he knew that taking out the Joker was the best decision he would ever make, and nothing in the world could stop him in this quest.

But while Damian’s perspective of vengeance did err on the side of aggressive violence compared to any other Robin, he was still his father’s son at heart, a trait that Talia or Ra’s could never train out of him. At this point, it must have been ingrained in his genes, a stubbornness that Jason knew could only ever be inherited – which meant he couldn’t tell the kid of his plans to kill the Joker.

Damian may have been raised in an environment that glorified assassinations and murder above all else but at the end of the day, Talia had sent her son to Bruce in time for those teachings to be replaced by the mercy that the man loved to hypocritically preached.

The scar on Jason’s neck suddenly prickled with a memory he refused to think of.

“Punchline,” Jason finally admitted, teeth clenched, hoping he wouldn’t regret this. He set the glass down a little too hard, water sloshing over the sides and onto his hands. “That’s the only thing I got out of him.”

“The end of a joke?” Damian tilted his head. “A play on Joker’s name, perhaps? But what would it have to do with Drake–”

“Before you jump to conclusions, it’s the name of a new player in Gotham.” He refilled the glass, his throat still feeling parched.

The young boy mumbled a quiet curse. “That…that cannot be good.”

“Understatement of the fucking century.” Jason threw his head back, water rushing down his throat as he slammed the cup back down onto the counter with barely contained frustration. “We should be fucking concerned, on Defcon fucking one because of a freak in a costume going around calling herself the Punchline. The end of a joke?” Jason barked out a sardonic laugh, a pinch of guilt at Damian’s sudden flinch. “It’s got Joker fanatic written all over it.”

“Father does not know–”

“I know he doesn’t, brat, ‘cause I just found out about two hours ago.” Damian froze at this, realizing that Jason was referencing the event from earlier tonight. “So go tell your furry of a father to see what else you guys can dig up on this Punchline and what the fuck she has to do with Tim. That’s why you’re here, yeah? To see what I found out that you guys couldn’t?”

Although, Jason knew Bruce enough to know that the older man had told Damian to stay away from this case. The kid was definitely here of his own volition, breaking those strict rules just to speak to him.

“…Yes,” Damian lied.

“So mission accomplished.” Jason was tired down to his bones, the consequences of the last few hours weighing him down as he dragged his body back over to the couch, falling into it. “So scram. Let me brood in peace.” The sooner Damian left, the better for them all. If there was anything that could set Bruce off more than anything, it was a Robin being unaccounted for during a Joker breakout.

And so he expected Damian to be on his merry-fucking-way with that holier-than-thou attitude that the kid loved to exude, but instead of leaving, he remained at Jason’s side. His back was ramrod straight, a constipated look on the tween’s face that had the circumstances warranted otherwise, Jason would’ve laughed at.

“Kid.” He suppressed the yawn threatening to escape, instead rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes. “What is it? Why are you still here?”

“I do not admit this lightly, Todd, but I am concerned about whatever plan you are concocting on your own. Mother has tasked me to watch out for you in case–”

“Well Talia can shove–”

Tan skin flushed with anger as Damian shot up from his seat, hands balled into fists. “How dare you speak of her like that–”

Jason felt the familiar burn of betrayal simmering in his chest, recalling the training that she had put him through, of the murderers and the psychopaths shoved onto his path that had eventually turned him into the dangerous vigilante he was now. He was far removed enough from the events of his resurrection that he understood that for all her misguided motherly affection towards him, it would pale in comparison to her toxic devotion to Bruce. In fact, he hadn’t spoken to the woman in years, not since that excruciatingly horrible showdown with the man. He didn’t want to know her thoughts regarding his failures, to witness the disappointment he would undoubtedly feel as she chose the father of her son over him.

“I’ll speak about her in any way I want to. She’s your mother, not mine,” he growled. ”If she really cared, she’d drop by and talk to me like she does for you every month despite B’s stupid rules, don’t you think?” Damian suddenly stilled beside him. “Oh, yeah, I know about your little reunions at that little restaurant downtown. Tarbooshes, was it? Great doner kebabs.”

“...Are you blackmailing me?”

“What?” Of course the kid would take it like that – he should’ve worded that better. “Damian, I’m not–” Jason sighed, feeling an aching in his shoulders that would soon grow upwards into his neck. Everything he was saying seemed to be the wrong thing, making everything so much worse. “I wouldn’t do that to you, okay? It’s just that whatever affection she may have once felt for me… it's run its course and I’m okay with that.”

Damian studied him, body revealing nothing. He was too well trained by both his mother and father to reveal what he was truly thinking and so Jason allowed himself to be scrutinized by the moody preteen.

He had to be okay with never speaking to Talia – like he told Damian, she wasn’t his mother.

In any case, he had no right to view her as anything but a mentor anyway, because to think otherwise was a slippery slope that he refused to ever go down; his feelings regarding her were an amalgamation of emotions too tangled with one another to ever make sense. He loathed to admit it but he was self-aware enough to realize that he wouldn’t be able to deal with the emotions of a maternal figure abandoning him again; once was enough and twice was a breaking point. He didn’t want to even think about the aftermath of the potential third.

“She has admitted to me her worries that you are on a suicide mission, Todd. That is why she has tasked me with watching out for you. Despite what you may think and for many reasons beyond my comprehension, she does think of you.” Robin’s shoulders fell the slightest amount. “...Of us.”

For a moment, a hazy memory broke through Jason’s thoughts, a thick veil as he recalled a soothing voice singing Arabic to him in the League dialect, a hand brushing over his hair, the warmth and softness of a child in his arms as a toddler babbled incoherently in his ears. It was memories of a time he knew he’d never fully recover, a haze during those long months before the Lazarus Pit revived him in a sea of green.

And all at once, Jason’s frustration dissipated. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he pressed a palm against his eyes, his other limp between his knees. “She has nothing to worry about,” he lied quietly. “You can tell her I’m fine.”

Damian may not have fully believed him but Jason must have fooled him enough because the kid gave him the slightest of nods. “Fine. I must report back to Father before he finds out where I am.”

“Hey genius, how are you going to mention Punchline without mentioning how you found me – or better yet, that you talked to me? I know for a fact that you, out of everyone, got told repeatedly to stay the fuck away from both me and this case.”

Robin pulled his hood up, shadows hiding his face, but not enough to where Jason could make out the slightest of smirks. “I have my ways. Be safe, Todd, and let me know if you require assistance.”

With a scoff, Jason just made a shooing motion with his hand. “Yeah yeah, whatever. Just…stay away from this Joker mess, alright? Everyone’s not wrong for wanting to keep you safe, including me. Something isn’t right this time.”

“Tch.”

“I’m serious, Damian.”

And with that, he heard the window open and close and Jason was alone in his apartment once more.

He let the conversation with the kid wash over him for a little bit, the weirdness of it making him uncomfortable enough to want to forget about the last half hour. So he picked up his laptop from the decrepit coffee stand, his screen lighting up with his last search.

Hacking the GCPD had been on his to-do list, so hack away he did as a distraction. Even with his mediocre skills, it was always a fun time. Although the GCPD was protected with layers of security that were a hobbled mess of federally mandated cybersecurity programs and contracted cybersecurity with Wayne Tech, once again he had to scoff at the lack of it protecting their files. Paired with the programs Talia had installed and his hacking abilities, he was breezing through it all.

Bruce definitely had the money to burn, sure, but what the hell was really happening with all of his donations – the contracts with his company? B gave millions and millions each year and yet for all his boasting, corruption still ran rampant throughout the police department.

As Jason went through arrest reports and pulled out a police scanner from his box of tools, he could easily see the rise in the number of arrests made with those wearing Joker masks, along with those affected by the gas. This was typical of a Joker breakout, nothing unusual.

What wasn’t though, was the high percentage of people getting arrested out of Crime Alley and the Bowery.

There were still stragglers throughout Gotham in numbers that were nothing to scoff at. Whenever the Joker made his big…debuts, he always managed to scramble together a crew that ran separately from his Joker Gang, all of them high on whatever drug he was concocting at that time. It was basically him testing the venom before releasing it to the masses.

Jason paused.

Going through the list from the beginning, Jason soon realized he had gotten it wrong. Nearly all the arrests, sans the Joker crews, were coming from Crime Alley and the Bowery. Jason paid more attention to the names on the list, unable to shake a sudden antsy feeling that overcame him.

He pulled up a map of his territory, quickly adding the Bowery to it.

Something wasn’t right. Jason knew that the Bowery was currently under Red Robin’s territory only because he had partnered up with Tim in a fairly big joint mission a few months back. It had been related to the Joker Gang but at the time, the Clown was locked up in Arkham and Punchline hadn’t even been a blip on any of their radars.

As he continued looking through the list, he began recognizing some of the names. They lived not too far from one of his main safe houses where many in Crime Alley knew where to find him on most nights. He’d answered calls for help from the kids to the working girls, who all knew that Red Hood would watch out for them because he was one of them. They knew kin. No matter what happened, Gotham was etched into his soul. He’d never be able to shake the grip the city had on him.

So as he went through name after name, seeing some of the teens he’d talk to on Thursdays after Teen Night at the library or the working girl who had called on him to kick out a John who wouldn’t leave the other night, the anger began to boil in his chest. Where it had started as an ever-constant simmer right below his skin begging to be released, by the time he found the name of the elderly lady who would make him tres leches cakes that reminded him of his mother’s recipe, the realization was just added fuel to the fire burning in him.

These people were targeted, there was no doubt about it. He was willing to bet – and he’d be a winning man – that the names he was pulling from the Bowery probably had some sort of connection to Red Robin, whether it was a brief interaction with him or something more personal. When he thought back to his stalker from tonight, the realization suddenly clicked in him.

They were being targeted.

Immediately, his body flew into fight or flight. Jason shot up from his seat and went straight to his windows, ensuring his traps were reset, even the window that Damian had gotten through. His security hadn’t been tripped, so the kid must have been telling the truth when he said Talia gave him the location of this safe house. Only after triple-checking everything did Jason sit back down to grab his computer, opening a blank document to go through the names of the victims he recognized.

It didn’t take him long. With determination fueling the boost of energy in him, once he finished that he quickly moved on to take notes of the old venom to cross-reference the different symptoms that the police and hospital were releasing regarding the new iteration of the Joker gas.

He knew something was different this time around but Jason couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was exactly he was getting caught on about the gas. It was frustrating. Sure, it didn’t take him long to recognize that the victims were acting weirdly…passive this time around; they were quiet, more hushed giggles than the violent murderous outbursts that the Joker Gas was known for. But he could easily have chalked it up to the different venom – but he just couldn’t. Joker made small changes all the time to his infamous gas. Only this time, he had that Punchline with him – whoever the hell she was – which was the outlier to this equation.

That was the most concerning part, because it definitely seemed like that Joker goon was more afraid of her than Clown Prince himself, which was saying a lot. It told him in clear bold letters that she wasn’t some arm candy tagging along for the ride.

No, if the Joker was calling this Punchline his new other half and Harley Quinn was anyone to go by, this new rogue was dangerous.

“Fuck!” he yelled. “Fuck fuck fuck!”

He hastily grabbed a couch cushion and slammed his face into it, practically suffocating himself as he screamed himself hoarse. The pent-up frustration was nearing his breaking point – he didn’t have much left in him to go on.

But once he calmed down, the pressure in his chest relieved just the slightest amount, he hugged the cushion to his chest as he stared at the ceiling. He wanted nothing more for the couch to swallow him whole, to take him away from this horrid existence – but he had people relying on him, had a plan to execute, a devil to kill. He didn’t have time to wallow in his pity.

So with a sigh and a growing headache, Jason closed his eyes.

He only had one option left; he had a phone call to make.

0O0

“Hey, I’m sorry for waking you up–”

“–Oh, Hoodsie, don’tcha worry ‘bout it – we were already awake, sirens goin’ off everywhere. A girl can’t get her beauty sleep! I’m so sorry ‘bout Reddy, it’s all over the news, so if ya need anythin’, you let good ol’ Harls here know and Imma try to help. You sure bet I will, even with – damn, give me a sec, would ya?” There was some muffling before Jason had to pull his crappy burner phone away from his ear as she began screaming. “I’m on the phone, Pammy! Who? Oh, with Hoodsie!”

Jason hated that nickname.

“Harley–”

“Wait, I’m talkin’ to him–” There were suddenly sounds of scuffling and what also sounded like more mayhem before a new voice rudely introduced itself.

“Hood.”

“Ivy–” he tried greeting but she cut him off.

“Get to the point.” If there was anything about Poison Ivy, it was the fact that she hated wasting time.

“I’m looking for Red Robin.”

“Yes, I figured.”

“Yeah, so–”

He heard Harley screaming from the background, quickly accompanied by the telltale sound of a door slam before Pamela’s voice rang cold in his ear. “So? You will not be asking her, or us, to help in your search through the city for that brother of yours or the Joker, do you understand me? I don’t want that filth touching Harley any more than he already has. We may despise the clown just like you Bats but I will not allow you to ask her of this.” She stopped, allowing her words to sink in, before she said, “Little bird, you of all people should know why.”

There was silence on his end, very much aware of what she was referencing. “He’s not my brother,” he pathetically countered. “And chill, Ivy, I really do come in peace. That isn’t what I’m calling you this early for.” Jason ruffled through the documents on his computer before stopping at an extremely blurry picture of a tall figure – the only thing he could find on Punchline after calling in some favors from some very questionable sources. “Besides, you know I wouldn’t do that to Harley, not after everything she’s done for me.”

“Then out with it.”

“There’s a new player in town, Punchline. Heard of her?”

“...Joker’s new toy, I’m assuming?” There was a sigh before he heard a door opening again, this time with Harley’s exclaims of disbelief. “Harleen, Darling, does the name Punchline mean anything to you?”

A static pop nearly started Jason, telling him that he was most likely on speaker. “Nope, why?”

With a dejected sigh, he then pulled up a document with the chemical composition of the Joker venom from the last incident that he had stolen from the Cave earlier. He had a back entry login for the Cave’s computer that he could technically access with any of his laptops, but it was a dead switch – once used, he couldn’t ever use it again due to the system’s firewall protection, so he took full advantage of it earlier. He was thankful that the computer had already run an analysis of the new venom, finding more changes than not.

“It's this new venom that the Joker’s using with her. Whatever they’ve done to it, it's changed a hell of a lot compared to the last breakout. I’ve tried my best to break down these components, trying to figure out what this all means, but I’m way out of my league here.”

There was a pause on the other end of the call before Harley responded, voice a little more toned down from earlier. “How much’s changed?”

“Enough. You’ve got an encrypted email I can send it to? I think it’ll be easier for you to see.”

“Oh, I’ve got a Hotmail–”

“Ignore her. I’ll give you an address you can send it to.”

Jason couldn’t help but snort as he quickly compiled the files, sending them off to the two scientists. Within seconds, the two women began to bicker between themselves about whether or not one thing meant this or if another meant that and he allowed their conversation to wash over him for a few minutes, drowning out the screaming thoughts trying to fry his brain from any coherent thought.

He was too tired for this shit.

“There’s no way Mistah J made these changes himself,” Harley began, startling him out of his daze. “I mean, I helped the ugly bastard with the chemical composition – me, the brilliant Dr. Quinzell – so I would definitely know. But that’s also one reason why he hasn’t changed it lots over the years. So this Punchline? She ain’t here for any funny business, that’s for sure.”

“Harley’s right. These changes…it makes the victims more docile once the dose begins to wear off –”

“Shit, Pammy, that means this also acts like–”

They began to throw words between them with intense medical and chemical jargon at a speed that Jason had a hard time following. All this was doing was heightening his stress, for both the amount of time that was passing and how afraid he truly was. Not for himself, but for Tim. If they were using this shit on the random homeless people that the Joker recruited as victims, there’s no denying that the bastard would use an even more refined version of it on Tim.

Tim, who could accidentally reveal to the world the identities of the Bats. Tim, who hid beneath his thick armor and intelligence, wanted to help others.

Tim, who was just a kid.

“Okay, okay, I’m going to need you two to hold on.” He quickly pulled up a blank document, typing out everything he just heard at a speed that would’ve impressed him if he wasn’t more worried about what this all meant. “In simple words, what are the changes I need to be worried about? How could they affect those who were exposed to the venom?”

“Well, Hoodsie, good news first.” There was a popping of gum on the other end. “I’d say that fat cherry of yours you love wearin’ on ya head should keep the gas out. Whatever you Bats use to filter the venom should be good enough.” Jason paused, processing her calling his helmet a cherry, as she continued. “Bad news? These changes, they’re enhancin’ everythin’ in the original venom. Makes ya violent, hallucinate some mores, makes you seek out the next high, and obviously, those giggles are gonna hurt a lot more. Where before, the muscles wouldn't atrophy an’ have permanent damage unless you were exposed to a full dose, but with this new version? If you don’t get access to an antidote soon then the full-on creep smile is here to stay, and without the next fix, those poor fellas are gonna die from a heart attack.”

“So it's just like the old venom but…worse?” he hummed, looking over the notes he took. “But would that warrant changing the composition so much then? And what about the passiveness with most of those being caught?”

“Well, what made Joker’s old venom hard to really…cure was because of the permanent changes it made to your DNA. In large doses, it would effectively delete a base from the DNA strand, which is why most end up dead,” Ivy paused before letting out a quiet huff. “Whatever changes Punchline made with the Joker here, it now has a slow-release element to it, keeping victims in a trance-like state longer until something causes them to react.”

He had to pause because…shit. “That means everyone getting caught right now–”

“Yupperie. They’re probably gonna start some gnarly cage fights in those ugly jail cells, if not now then soon. Then pop! Deadder than roadkill.”

A breath left his mouth as Jason had the sudden urge to punch something, anything. This wasn’t good. How the hell was he doing this alone? He needed backup – but had no one.

“Hood, you still there?”

“I–” Jason felt like screaming again, eyeing the pillow beside him. Instead, he opted to pull at his hair. “Yeah, I’m here,” he mumbled a few seconds later, eyes closed but the phone still pressed against his ear. “This isn’t good.”

“No, it’s not. Sorry there ain’t much else we can help ya with.” Harley suddenly hummed. “Wait, why are you askin’ us about this? Not that I’m complainin, lovin the trust you’ve got for us, but you’ve got your fancy tech with the Bats–”

“–I don’t,” he hastily corrected, recognizing how he interrupted Harley. “I…don’t.” Repeating one more time made it hit home for him because…he really was alone. He wouldn’t have backup, he wouldn’t have the relief of someone coming to his call because to do this, he would be destroying all bridges with everyone. No one would forgive him for breaking the cardinal rule that Batman forced everyone to live by. He groaned at his growing headache, telling himself to loosen the grip on his phone before he broke it and ended the call prematurely. “I don’t have any access because…I’m going to do it.”

Some shuffling and suddenly, Harley’s voice was much clearer. He was off speaker. “You’re gonna kill him, ain’tcha.” Not a question but a statement. “By yourself?”

Jason felt his throat tight as the telltale burn of tears grew in his eyes. “This has to end, Harley,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I need this to end. If not for me, then for you, for Robin, for Red Robin, for this city, and just, god, just for every fucking person Joker’s ever tortured and killed.” A deep breath. “He needs to die.”

“...You sure about this, sweetheart?”

An exhale, a shuttering of eyes. “Yeah, I am.” With a sigh, he admitted, “That’s why I’m calling you at six in the morning. We both know that the Bats will try and stop me before I can pull the trigger.” For once, he let the wave of Lazarus rage fall over him like a thick blanket, soothing the turbulent emotions within him. “Because they’ll choose to keep him alive every time, no matter what he does, no matter the casualties. Every fucking time and I can’t do it anymore.” With a laugh, he found himself growing a little more hysterical with every passing second. “Sure, it’s selfish of me to decide to do this on my own, to decide if someone can live or die, but I never claimed to be otherwise. I am selfish and I’m definitely no hero – and if that means killing someone who’s too far gone to ever go right, then I’ll gladly become the villain of their story.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone before Harley began talking again. “That was soundin’ a little too monologuey there for a sec, you dramatic himbo.” He couldn’t help but laugh and it seemed to be the response she wanted as she continued, “Tell ya what, Shakespeare, keep this phone number on you, okay? I’ll try to dig up anythin’ on Punchyboob but if ya need a quick escape from anyone, includin’ them Bats, you give good ol’ Auntie Harley a call, yeah?” Her voice was clear and concise, serious till the end. “You were my favorite Robin, kid, ya hear me?”

Years ago, well before Jason had even dared to look at the Batmobile with his rusty tire iron, Harley had broken up with the Joker. It had been a dangerous time on the streets, the man even more psychotic and angry than he ever was before. Their breakup had shifted the dynamics of Gotham’s underworld substantially and in his rage, the clown had been ready to burn the whole city down, as long as it meant getting his Harls back.

But she hadn’t relented, stood her ground. And in her own…questionable way, she helped a lot of the street kids like him.

“Don’t get soft on me now,” he chuckled wetly.

The phone switched hands again. “Like Harley said, we’ll keep an eye out and make some calls, but remember what I said Hood – nothing more.”

“Psh – ignore her! I’ll do some snoopin' of my own; it’s definitely been a lil too quiet ‘round these parts and momma needs to let loose every once in a while. I’m gonna ask around very politely and all lady-like with good ol’ Beatrice to see what this new chick’s whole schtick is. Hammer it in that the birds and the brooding Bats ain’t the only ones protectin’ this city.”

Before Jason could ask, Ivy suddenly said, “Beatrice is Harley’s hammer.”

Ah.

Oddly enough, that made sense for her.

He said his goodbyes after a few more questions before he was staring at the burner cell in his hand. As Harley instructed him to do, he memorized her number until he could recall it without struggle, the slightest bit relieved that he had someone on his side. It wasn’t backup, but it was enough.

Looking at the time flashing on the corner of the tiny flip phone, Jason’s head fell back onto the couch with a groan, a bone-weary exhaustion taking over his body. Although it was early morning, the dark storm clouds gave off the impression otherwise, the streetlamps along the empty road the only source of light from the outside.

Without meaning to, he began to drift off – but he didn’t fight it. Here, he was as safe as he could be. Besides, he would be of no help to Tim if he ran himself haggard. Every vigilante knew that their body could be their worst enemy if not careful, and sleep deprivation was one of many reasons someone would get injured during patrol.

Of course, he still made sure to keep conscious of his surroundings, not allowing himself to fully succumb to sleep. A short semi-nap wouldn’t hurt him, not if it helped recharge his physical – and to be honest, mental – batteries from the night he had.

Jason didn’t know how much time had passed when he next opened his eyes but it was still dark out, his body complaining from the position. Slightly wary of why he was suddenly brought out of his nap, he heard the faintest shuffling of curtains from what should have been a closed window behind him. No wonder why he woke up. He internally cursed, knowing that Damian was the only one who knew of this place. The kid was back.

“Kid, what the hell do you want – again?” he complained, accompanied by an annoyed sigh. He forced his body to get up from the dusty couch, arms raised as he stretched his aching body, “I thought I told you to scram–”

Before Jason could react, there was an abrupt shuffling of unfamiliar footsteps and a painful prick on the side of his neck, startling him out of his stupid complacency. With all his strength, he shoved whoever it was away while simultaneously ripping out the syringe sticking out of his neck.

“Shit.” His eyes fell to the now-empty syringe on his palm. There was a woman slowly standing up from where she fell, long black hair hanging over her face like a curtain, her purple tights ripped in several places. “What the fuck?” he growled, keeping the couch as a barrier as a strange sluggishness began to form from deep in his muscles. This wasn’t good – he didn’t know what the fuck she just injected him with and obviously, strange drugs only spelled disaster.

With a gloved hand, she pushed her hair back, stepping into the light shining from a streetlamp through his window. They both knew she didn’t have to say anything, the fear spiking in him knowing immediately who she had to be – with a mockery of clown makeup strewn over her face, standing before him was Punchline, whoever the fuck she was.

“Interesting,” she tilted her head, observing him, “there should’ve been enough of that sedative in there to knock you out within seconds.”

Jason simply narrowed his eyes, baring his teeth. “Well, maybe you don’t know your shit and got it wrong,” he boasted falsely while his mind was straining to find a quick solution and escape.

…Did she say sedative?

That didn’t bode well for him. Even if his body had a resistance to nearly all drugs compared to the normal person, it was a far cry from being immune. With enough running through his system, it would still make him slow, his reaction times less than ideal. If she was telling the truth, that would mean her end goal wasn’t to kill him – no, it was to incapacitate him for a period of time, maybe even take him somewhere…where only the Joker could be.

No, absolutely not.

“I wonder…” Punchline pursed her lips, a hand resting on her waist as a finger hovered over her mouth in thought. “There’s something strange in you, isn’t there?” Her smile slowly began to grow, a menacing sight in the darkness that only further highlighted the glow of her teeth. “Something…unnatural.”

He was now beginning to feel the effects of the sedative starting to weigh him down but not enough to where he was going to pass out – at least, not yet. His limbs were responding slower than usual though as they did a strange dance around his couch.

“You were the one stalking me tonight, weren’t you?” he demanded, trying to keep his words from slurring. He eyed his helmet on the kitchen counter. He just needed to find some way to reach it before whatever drug running through his system got the better of him. “Why?”

Punchline cackled, eerily similar to the Joker’s. “Why? As if I’d ever tell you – where’s the fun in that? Whatever Joker wants, I’ll gladly get for him.” She pulled out a dagger from her back, the stiletto glinting menacingly in the shadow. “And you, little birdy, are what he wants most!”

“And you’re fucking insane,” he growled out, getting closer to the kitchen. He was in just arms reach, just a few more steps–

She suddenly leaped over the couch. He jumped back when she attempted to reach forward, successfully grabbing her arm to twist it behind her, her cry ringing throughout the room. He was able to shove her forward with a hard kick to her back but he also found himself stumbling from it, needing to catch himself with a hand on the armrest.

The disruption of the couch cushions revealed something shiny in the light and without a moment’s hesitation, he grabbed the handle of the once-forgotten weapon, throwing it in a beautifully clean arc. The dagger found its target, sinking deep into Punchline’s back shoulder where her cry rang throughout the room. Jason didn’t waste the momentary opportunity, forcing his legs to sprint to the kitchen despite the heaviness. He managed to grab his helmet when a flaring pain erupted from his back arm, dropping him to the ground. The helmet fell with him as he stared at the dagger she had wielded earlier clattered to the ground next to him, the cut on his arm bleeding.

“Shit,” he mumbled, his words slurring even more. She must have…poisoned her dagger, done something to it. A venom that caused temporary paralysis, maybe?

Paired with the sedative already in him, he knew he was done for.

Despite the frustration running through him at the sudden darkness seeping into his vision, he found himself cursing that he hadn’t been more careful. He had let his guard down, believing that the safe house had been, well, safe.

He was so fucking stupid.

Jason frantically shoved his leaden hand into his helmet – and just in time, his arm abruptly stopped responding to his commands. He had to use all the strength he could muster just to move his finger along the leather in search of a barely raised bump, something undetectable to those who didn't know what it was. When he finally found the button he needed, he pressed down on it without a second thought. A silent switch, a call for help. He quickly lost the battle over strength after, hand going limp.

He hoped, prayed, that despite all their issues with one another, the Bats would follow the signal of his helmet coming back to life, of the SOS button he had installed without anyone’s knowledge. If anything, just because they thought him crazy and dangerous to the public – he’d take any reason at this point.

As the darkness finally overtook him, he only felt dread at the way Punchline loomed over him, a menacing smile hinting at what was to come. With one arm limp and dripping with blood, the last thing he saw was her raising a phone to her ear, talking to someone.

“Tell Joker I’ve got a present for him.”

Chapter Text

Jason Todd, at his core, was tired.

Even before shit had hit the fan, landing him in a strange room being held hostage by a Joker fanatic, Jason had been exhausted. Perhaps it was the circumstances of his environment or it was just good ol’ burnout, he didn’t really know nor cared enough to find out. After all, he had a singular job that kept him occupied enough – protect Crime Alley and protect his people. Nothing more, nothing less. Simple rules that weren’t too difficult to follow and live by, right?

Wrong.

Even if he had wanted to call it quits and disappear off the face of the earth to some lone cottage on a snowy mountain with a book in hand, he knew Gotham would never let him. He'd never be able to abandon the city, not when this cesspool was ingrained into his very being, encoded into his genes; he was a Gothamite through and through, a Jersey boy at heart.

But that didn’t shake off the uneasy feeling of exhaustion that haunted his shadow like a ghost, a specter waiting for every inopportune moment to strike and leaving him bedridden for days in a toxic headspace that screamed at him for his failures. He was his own worst enemy, reliving his worst nightmares until he would scream himself hoarse.

So when Jason gradually regained consciousness, his mind reawakening before his body knew what was happening, a dark part of him couldn’t help but selfishly think, just for a second, that he hadn’t woken up.

Shit would be so much easier if I didn’t have to wake up, he thought, unable to stop himself from recalling his last moments before the drugs had knocked him out. His last memories were of Punchline standing above him, a menacing figure that was sure to haunt his dreams with the words she said to someone on her cellphone. Now he had to contend with his murderer and groupie, somehow find a missing Robin, all the while hoping that today wouldn’t be the day he got brained to death via crowbar.

Hopefully, there would be no bombs this time around.

So with the unknown drug that was still running through his veins diluting his senses, Jason began to think. Too well trained to jump awake, he kept his breathing deep and steady, eyes remaining closed and body still. In an attempt to gather any information on where he was being kept, he was making every effort to take in his surroundings as best as he could with what little he could do.

Because for all his flaws, Jason was not stupid. He knew what was happening, where he had been taken to. Somewhere in the godforsaken building was the Joker himself, probably brainstorming up all the ways he could torture Jason even more than his very existence already did.

Jason eventually called it after a half hour of staying still, feigning unconsciousness with nothing of significance occurring. There were no footsteps nor voices, no sounds of breathing that would indicate someone in the room with him. He was only delaying the inevitable by lying there, doing nothing but hiding. He slowly opened his eyes, blinking rapidly to adjust to the darkness of the strangely barren room.

He had been right; he was alone.

Jason slowly sat up, taking stock of himself. Still wearing his uniform but all weapons gone, although that was no surprise. Definitely not the most ideal of situations, though. When he tried to stretch his shoulders to relieve the tightness from the several zip-ties around his wrists, a searing pain made itself known on the back of his bicep.

Shit. He had forgotten about the poisoned blade Punchline had cut him with.

With a series of moves that definitely tested the limits of his flexibility – because that was definitely more Dick’s specialty than his – he was finally able to get a good look at the injury. It was on the shallower side, as it had scabbed over the slightest amount.

Sure, thank god for small miracles and all, but if it wasn’t disinfected he’d soon be rescinding those words. The room was, quite frankly, disgusting; it reeked of mold and mildew and he could hear the mice and rats scattering throughout the walls. Even with his Lazarus-enhanced healing abilities, the last thing he needed was an infection – or worse.

The armored long sleeve he was wearing had absorbed most of the blood from the cut but now that the fabric was beginning to dry, some of the blood was flaking and his skin beginning to itch. While it wasn't the most concerning thing he needed to worry about, his arm being sticky from his dried blood wasn't fun and honestly, it was a tad bit grim.

His eyes trailed the empty shelves, watching as a mouse squeaked and ran along the rusty metal bars.

“...Fuck,” he whispered to no one, head falling forward. He needed to find a way out as soon as possible. His circumstances right now weren’t ideal and the window of opportunity for escape was growing more limited with every passing second – but he couldn't just sit on his ass and do nothing.

Before Jason’s thoughts could settle and give him a moment to think, boots thundering down whatever hallway the singular door led to derailed that course of action. Whatever drug he had been injected with, alongside the poison on that stupid blade, still lingered deep in his muscles because he didn’t move quickly enough before the door slammed open. In an instant, the room filled with clown masks and guns, all of which were trained on him. Standing as the obvious leader at the center was Punchline herself, the bright hallway light shining a halo around her.

The anger that had been burning him ragged for the past day reared its ugly head as Jason glared at the young woman from the ground, mustering all the hatred he could gather in his chest. In the better lighting, he couldn’t help but be slightly shocked to see just how young she was beneath her makeup – they had to have been around the same age, if that.

So he stayed kneeling, unflinching as Punchline unpromptedly pulled out her gun and aimed it at his head. The gun was just a bluff, an attempt to scare him into obedience because they all knew that if she wanted him dead, he would have been six feet under already.

Amateur.

“All this for me?” He raised a brow. “I’m flattered, really.”

Punchline sneered. “I can’t believe you let yourself get caught, Hood,” she began, face devoid of all humane emotion. She stepped forward, bending down at the waist to get a little closer to him. “For all the rumors I heard, it was a lot easier than I thought it was going to be – the big bad Red Hood, so feared by all of Gotham, caught by little ol’ me? Pathetic.”

“Gotta say, you definitely caught me at a bad time. Can I take a rain check?”

“You’ve got a lot of talk for someone with a gun to his head. Is it because you think the Bats are gonna come rescue you?” she mocked, dropping her tone and speaking to him as though he was a child. He kept silent though, refusing to be baited into responding to her blatant aggression by keeping his expression bored. “Or is poor lil’ Hood all on his own because you tortured that innocent man?”

“Innocent?” Jason couldn’t help but interrupt, barking out a laugh as he recalled the Joker Gang he had brought down earlier. “If he’s innocent then I must be a goddamn saint, lady.” He turned to one of the guards, motioning with his head. “Get the Pope on the phone, tell him to jumpstart the canonisation process for a one Red Hood. Can’t be too hard – I’ve already died once.” He tilted his head. “Pretty sure that’s one of the requirements.”

“Oh, shut up.” Punchline rolled her eyes at his snark. “It doesn’t fucking matter because the Bats don’t give two shits about you. Want to know how I figured that out? It’s because they don’t even realize you’re fucking missing! How sad is that – but I mean, you are the black sheep of the family, after all.”

Jason shrugged his shoulders as best as he could given his current immobility. “Can’t be the black sheep of a family you were never part of, can you?”

“...Oh?” She pulled back the slightest, putting her gun away. “Is that some resentment I’m hearing in your voice?”

“Whatever makes you sleep better at night,” Jason deadpanned. His lack of seriousness must have struck a nerve in her as she suddenly grabbed his hair, yanking his face up. He kept his face neutral as the faint pain tingled across his scalp, opting to meet her eyes instead. She was looking for something in his gaze but she gave up, shifting her attention to the scar that marred his neck. With a faint touch, she traced the horrible J that marred his cheek, nausea rocking his stomach at the sensation.

“We both know that lying’s a sin, don’t we?” she hissed, suddenly grabbing his face with one hand and digging her pointer nail into the old wound.

It may have hurt but the pain was nothing compared to what he had gone through these last few years. If she was hoping to scare him into submission, she sure was doing a piss poor job at it, he thought, staring her down despite his weakened position.

“I’m going to Hell anyways.” He smirked. “Some lies won’t change my future.”

The nonchalant attitude he was fronting despite being on the precipice of a panic attack he was expertly hiding seemed to strike a nerve as Punchline dug her nail in even deeper, finally breaking the skin. He felt blood slowly seep out from the fresh cut as though it were a teardrop, staining a single path red down his cheek.

“Think you’re so tough, big guy? Well, we’ll see about that. The Joker’s missed you, Hood,” she whispered, “and he was a little disappointed you haven’t reached out to him. Don’t worry though, he’s got a great plan for you. I didn’t see the vision at first, you know?” She was now taunting him, he knew that, and he had to keep telling himself not to listen – that she wanted a reaction out of him.

But it was beginning to test the boundaries of his patience.

Kill her, a whisper said in his head. It was a familiar voice that he had once thought true, that had directed him in his rampage through Gotham years ago. The voice was reawakening a sleeping beast, igniting a cold burning rage he didn’t know he still had in him that would make his earlier actions laughable. Losing control earlier? Blanking out when he tortured that one man? That all paled in comparison to the dark voice that was begging to be let loose.

Kill them all.

He sneered, the green beginning to encroach on his surroundings.

They don’t deserve your mercy.

“I told him to just kill you, to just shoot you dead for the Bats to come collect – because how dare you,” she growled, pulling tighter on his hair and bringing him closer. Even with the white face paint she had slathered on, her anger was evident, her face flushed as she trembled. “Red Hood – such a pathetic waste of a name. How dare you sully Joker’s name with yours, using his name and mocking him with that stupid helmet of yours. You think you’re so smart taking Red Hood from him, don’t you? But the Joker’s a genius, my sweetheart knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s got great plans for you and Junior, and you’re going to help whether you want to or not.” She smiled. “And damn it, you’re gonna love what we did with lil’ Junior; you’ll hardly recognize the boy.”

Jason’s eyes focused on hers, widening just the slightest.

…Tim was here.

Tim was here and Punchline, the dumbass she was and too high on the success of his capture, just revealed to him that Tim was here.

He was moving before he even realized it – throwing himself back, the motion pulled her in close as he slammed his forehead into her face. There was a satisfying crunch from her nose as she quickly staggered a few feet back, reeling from his sudden move as blood began gushing down her face. She blinked owlishly at him for a few seconds as he welcomed the throbbing on his forehead.

“You broke my nose!”

At her shrill screaming, the corners of his mouth began to creep upwards, his teeth flashing in the dark. A bubbling was growing in his chest that he let loose, throwing his head back in a laugh. He was hardly able to get any air in, left gasping between each and every breath, the sound echoing loudly around them. The gang members were clearly unnerved by his sudden reaction, their hands twitching as they tightened their hold on their weapons, looking at one another. Punchline was staring too, face scrunched in confusion as was now doubled over.

There was nothing funny about the situation, Jason couldn’t have thought otherwise – but it was the realization that they brought him here? As a gift for Joker?

When Tim was being held here?

“You’re all fucking dead,” he gasped out before another laughing fit came over him. It was quieter giggles this time but the smile never left his face. There was an insane quality to it; he knew that in any other circumstance, he’d be concerned that he was drugged with Joker Gas, but everything happening was just too good.

It made his job so much simpler – because if Punchline thought he was just going to let Joker do whatever to him, she was sorely mistaken. If she thought he was going to escape this building without Tim, she had another thing coming.

He would burn everything down.

Killing him all those years ago would be the biggest mistake of Joker’s life because Jason had returned stronger and angrier, willing to do whatever it took to exact revenge for his younger self. He had been blinded for a few years by Bruce’s strict rules, foolishly believing that he could peacefully coexist with the Bats, but no more.

He was fond of the motley crew of vigilantes more than he cared to admit but the feeling was never mutual. They never outwardly hated him by all means, and included him in conversations and whatnot – but there was a difference between tolerance and acceptance. It wasn’t their fault; his actions, past and present, were clear reasons enough for them to keep him at arm's length. Because how could he have blamed them when their lines of morality weren’t parallel to his?

He gave and gave to Bruce’s mission, just like everyone else did, until there was nothing left of him but a husk of a man barely living because every second the Joker was alive had been another part of him chipping away. He had been so stupid – why did he ever think Bruce would kill the Joker? Why did he ever think that Bruce would sacrifice his moral codes for some street rat that he picked up?

Of course he wouldn’t – and two years ago, Jason had been too weak to do anything otherwise; he wouldn’t have been able to pull the trigger on the clown, not when he had been searching for a Bruce that had never existed in the first place.

That’s right, a familiar voice whispered, he never cared about you, about us.

For a moment amid his laughing fit, something had irreparably broke in him because…because he was so tired. He was exhausted. It was tempting to embrace that vile part of him, to open the floodgates to that familiar Lazarus rage he kept under chains because it would give him the strength to keep everyone he ever cared about safe – even if they hated his version of protection.

During those early days…it had served him well, hadn’t it? Told him the truth he never wanted to admit to himself?

Yes.

A vision of Tim suddenly flickered in the corner of his eyes – but it wasn’t the Tim he knew now but Robin, standing ominously in the dark, shadows emphasizing the deep blue eyes watching him. The uniform ripped, Robin’s R logo ripped from his chest.

He did a double-take. The ghost had disappeared, the corner as empty as it had been a second ago.

No.

As if ice-cold water had been doused over him, he slammed on the metaphorical breaks of his mind, scrambling for control of himself. That line of thinking…it was a slippery slope that he would have trouble crawling out of again if he were to follow down that path of insanity – no, he wouldn’t lose himself when he exacted his revenge.

He was Jason Todd. He was Red Hood. He wouldn’t let some green cesspit dictate his life, his actions. He had vowed to himself, never again. There would be no more killing while under the influence of the Lazarus, especially when it came time to kill the Joker.

He would be himself.

He wanted that fucking clown to know who was pulling the trigger.

With these thoughts came clarity, because he'd admit that denying his anger was pointless. That infamous rage was inherently him, not a result of the Lazarus Pit as much as some around him liked to believe. He had been brought up in a world that only nurtured his anger until he channeled it into what he now was today: Red Hood. He wasn't a hero and he never pretended to be otherwise. He was just some dude trying to do what he thought best.

The guards all around him disappeared, his mind focusing on one of the two people he felt his rage directed to most.

“I’m going to kill you.”

Jason had never been so certain, so sure of a choice. Killing people was never easy and he never relished in it, found that the blood would forever stain his skin red – but Punchline? The Joker? There was no chance in hell that the new Rogue was innocent, that her hands weren't dripping in innocent blood. Her obsession with the clown was disgustingly obvious, and no sane person would have ever pursued Joker the way she was now, not if they weren't as psychotic as the man himself. Even without prior knowledge and hard evidence of her crimes, Jason knew that she was a sadistic piece of shit that took pleasure from the fear in her victims.

“M-Ma’am–”

“Shut up!” Punchline screamed, “Shut up shut up shut up!” She was wide-eyed, watching him with uncertainty in her gaze as she stormed over. “Who the hell do you think you are? Do you even realize your situation? We’ve got you trapped, practically wrapped up in a bow for Joker!” He stared back with a blank smile, silence his only answer. That seemed to anger her even more and she threw a fist. He didn’t bother dodging it as he fell slightly back from the punch, allowing the pain to fester in his chest. “You’re pathetic,” she spat, a manic glint in her eyes.

“And you’re not?” he scoffed. “You think Joker loves you, that he thinks you’re his equal? Give me a fucking break. You’re just a replacement for Harley Quinn.” The silence that rang across the room was oppressive, the sudden tension in the room palpable. The horror on all of the guards' expressions was evidence enough to know that he had struck a nerve.

Clearly, Harley Quinn was clearly a sore spot.

But of course she would be – Harley may err on the side of crazy but she was also Harley fucking Quinn. Broke free from the shackles that Joker had slapped onto her, using her knowledge and love for the city to help Gotham – albeit in her own…unique way. And over the years, Joker had never stopped trying to get her attention, to find some way to bring her back to his side. Truth be told and violence aside, it had been embarrassing to witness to see just how down bad the clown had been for Harley.

“She was holding Joker back.” Punchline hid her face behind the shadows of her hair. “It was so sad. She refused to see him for who Joker is – the power that he has, the change that he’s trying to make–”

“Are you fucking serious?” Jason balked, his eye twitching. “Do you really think I don’t see that psychopath for who he is? I know what it’s like firsthand to watch him wreak havoc across Gotham. There is no reason for his insanity! He just loves this shit, loves to stir the pot just because he can. God, I can’t believe–” He narrowed his eyes in disbelief. “Do you seriously think he’s a genius with some elaborate plan up his sleeve?” He couldn’t hold back the scoff. “Come on.”

But she simply stared at him, observing the obvious disgust that he couldn’t hide – wouldn’t hide. “It’s so sad,” she finally said, voice small and hushed, “that no one gets him – no one but me.”

Thundering footsteps coming down the hallway interrupted them. Punchline turned around when the Joker Gang member came around the corner into the doorway.

“Ma’am, you asked to be notified when Junior woke up.”

Jason put a temporary hold on his frustration at the mention of Tim; it was neither the time nor place for him to argue with someone who was clearly obsessed with all things Joker. He’d have the opportunity for revenge soon enough.

Wherever Tim was, the kid was leaving the place alive.

Jason shuffled around, trying to gauge whether or not he would be able to somehow brute force his way through the guards and the building, but at the slightest movement, he was stopped by the barrel of a gun pressed against the back of his head.

Punchline took a few more seconds to think before slowly turning her head halfway around, smiling with malicious glee. “Oh?” she said ominously, “Junior’s awake now, is he?”

With a sharp motion, Jason was swiftly hauled to his feet and forced to follow after her, flanked by the armed guards.

Punchline, walking in front, was speaking to the guard beside her. He kept his face blank but strained his ears, attempting to overhear their hushed whispers. He didn’t catch anything other than Joker and room, to which Jason had to keep himself from tripping – because was that where he was being dragged to?

Was he going to be a firsthand witness to Tim’s torture?

Every step he took was heavy, his chest was constricting as he was getting closer and closer to what was perhaps his version of hell. He was a lamb to the slaughter, forced to follow a shepherd blindly to his death – because if he couldn’t find a way out with Tim, there was no way either of them was leaving this building alive.

Because for all of Jason’s earlier bravado, the last thing he actually ever wanted was to be anywhere near the Clown Prince. The last time he had even seen Joker in person was during that disastrous showdown involving Batman two years prior, and that encounter had ended catastrophically. Since then, he hadn’t even dared to confront Joker and the failure that the man’s continued existence represented.

…But he couldn’t back out, not now. He had been kidnapped, was almost certainly going to be tortured, and he wouldn’t let the pain – past or present – be for nothing. What kept him going was knowing that they were bringing him to wherever Tim was because maybe...they’d be able to figure something out together. So all he could hope for now was for Tim to be as okay as he could be after being trapped with Joker.

They soon reached a wide open doorway, metal doors swung wide open on rusty hinges. Punchline went through first, disappearing around the corner and leaving Jason with the guards.

He wondered if he could–

There was another conversation, mumbles too low for Jason to hear clearly, until a familiar cackling escaped into the corridor. All thoughts came to a standstill, the laughter all he could focus on.

“Oh? A present for me, my dear?” a loud voice echoed. It was a voice that tormented his dreams, haunted his every waking moment. There was only cold panic, a sharp ball of terror tightening his insides as he unconsciously took a step back.

Abandon all hope, he thought, ye who enter. One foot in purgatory, the next in hell.

He was swiftly shoved into the room. It took everything in him not to fall, stumbling forward as he was still uncoordinated from the poison his body was sweating out. He couldn’t help but keep his face down, eyes hiding behind his bangs as a conversation continued before him. When he finally glanced up, Joker had his back to him, Punchline looking at Jason with a sadistic grin that promised pain and suffering.

“Of course,” she said in response to something Jason hadn’t been listening to. He could only describe it as a switch suddenly flipping within the crazy woman as she turned to Joker, practically melting into his outstretched arms, eyes glazed with pure unadulterated affection. Her body was oozing with a toxic devotion, dripping from her every pore. It was horrifying. “Oh sweetie, I think you’re really going to like this.”

With a snap of her fingers, two guards behind Jason kicked the back of his knees, forcing him to kneel as the clown turned around–

And he–

His knees hit the floor–

Oh god, he was going to puke.

The red smile carved viciously on Joker’s face slowly deepening as the clown peered down at him, twisted delight dancing in his eyes.

“I got him just for you,” she said in a loud whisper into Joker’s ear, clearly for everyone to hear.

Joker slowly let Punchline go and took a step forward.

Oh god–

It took everything in Jason not to openly freak out, not to scream or cry or run, to do anything to get away from the clown. Instead, the fear kept him immobile, eyes wide as the Joker loomed over him with shoulders shaking with mirth.

For a moment, Jason wasn’t Red Hood. He was fifteen and Robin again, lying broken and defeated in a strange warehouse as Joker taunted him, A or B.

“Well well well…” Joker ran a hand down the side of his face, smearing some of the makeup on his cheek. “Look what the cat dragged in! A familiar bird falling into my nest again? Wings clipped and all?”

The next thing he knew, Joker had grabbed the back of his shirt, dragging him deeper into the room–

Jason’s eyes swiveled around, recognizing where he was; it was the same room from where the Joker had been streaming Tim’s torture. Hidden from the low-quality stream were rotting wooden beams, the surrounding brick walls having seen better days. The windows were too high for him to get a clear look out of, other than noticing it was dark out; he had been out for an entire day at the very least, if the moon was any indication. Water was dripping from the roof into a puddle in the corner and–

And–

Oh god–

Tim.

The kid was…just staring blankly at the wall as he sat, arms bound behind his back, in a rusty wheelchair. His face, just as Jason recalled from the stream he had last seen, was an eerie white despite the flaky paint, a sharp contrast to the fake red smile drawn carelessly across his face. His green hair hung low, whatever black makeup that had been smeared around his eyes half melted from the tear tracks muddying the streaks grey. It was obvious that Tim was dressed as a mimicry of the Joker, a poorly fitted suit with the Joker’s purple and green color scheme in place of his Red Robin uniform.

Jason could no longer hold back his nausea, the vomit splattering across the concrete floor as he leaned to his right and heaved. There was a disgusting satisfaction at knowing that some of the sick landed on the Joker though, the fucking freak.

He’d take the small wins.

Several of the guards scrambled forward when the Joker hurled Jason back in disgust, quickly catching him before he fell to the ground. It didn’t matter, though, that he was being thrown about or that his captor's hands had changed; he was still being dragged to the middle of the wide-open space anyway.

They came to a stop where a bloodstained rope and chain dangled from the metal beam and he knew, he knew, that was the same chain that Joker had hung Tim off of.

A jolt shot through him as his mind jumpstarted itself, coming back to life amid the terror that had drowned out all other thoughts

Oh, fuck that, he thought.

He bided his time and kept his body limp, the guards stupidly cutting the plastic around his wrists to force his arms forward. The moment he felt the knife cut through plastic, he made his move–

A quick elbow to one face, a shoulder slamming into another to get the guards off of him. A swarm of Joker Gang morons charged at him with their weapons but Jason was, well, Jason. He was Red fucking Hood, a highly trained assassin, a vigilante, and a goddamn crime boss – he could take them.

He took some hits, which was unavoidable, especially when he was trying to keep an eye on Joker – who had mysteriously vanished amid the fight.

At some point, Jason had an arm locked around a thug’s neck, noticing there were only a few guards left around him. Most were groaning in various stages of injuries, some knocked unconscious and others in tears. It was only then that he locked eyes with Punchline, who had stayed on the outskirts of the scuffle. The man was clawing at his arm as Jason continued to choke him out, but he paid it no mind, his piercing gaze unwavering.

“I’ll make good on my promise,” he growled, pointing a finger at her.

She just scoffed, flipping her hair with the back of a hand. “And I’ll make good on mine.”

There was a scuff of someone’s boots behind him and before Jason could drop the thug in his arms, a quick blow to the back of his head–

He couldn’t help the painful cry as he fell onto his hands and knees, his skull threatening to split open–

“Hmm…he took out more of them than what I like, but oh well.” Jason’s heart fell as Joker’s loafers appeared in front of him. While he attempted to lunge at the clown, a swift kick to his solar plexus – no matter how armored – ended that course of action quickly. “Wouldn’t be a Red Hood otherwise, am I right?!”

It didn’t take the remaining crew long to take advantage of Jason’s temporary immobility to string him up from the ceiling. By the time he had recovered his breath, he was trapped. Again. He tested the ropes around his wrists but quickly gave up, knowing that it was fruitless and would yield nothing other than burning unnecessary energy. He threw his head around, trying to devise a new plan to escape.

There, a few feet away facing him, was a camera tripod setup, red light aimed where he was hanging; they had been streaming the entirety of the last fifteen minutes, including the fight he had just lost.

He could have laughed, truly, at how perfectly planned everything was, his mind now jumping to the worst possible scenario he could have possibly imagined.

If Bruce didn’t know he was missing, well, he sure did now.

Jason sighed. Most likely, the Joker was going to continue the stream by starting off torturing him, then bring out Tim, who was definitely drugged out of his mind on whatever they were pumping him full of. Either hurt Tim to torture Jason or have Tim torture Jason – when it came down to the Joker, there were endless possibilities within that sadistic mind of his. Of course in any other situation, neither of them would have hurt the other, but he could tell that the kid wouldn’t know any better if it came down to that. Judging by the looks of him, the clown had dug his filthy claws in a little too deep, having been trapped far longer than he should have ever been.

I’m so sorry, Jason couldn’t help but think, squeezing his eyes to stave off the wave of anger. He shuffled around, trying his best to relieve the ache in his shoulders, his feet barely grazing the ground.

Why hadn’t he noticed Tim going missing earlier?

And why hadn’t anyone told him?

Jason’s frustration at the situation was beginning to spiral out of control – because his mind couldn’t help but blame Bruce and his dumbass rules regarding the clown. There was no rational decision behind Jason’s thought process, not really, not when it came down to the Joker – but he couldn’t help but think that if B had told him about Tim, things would've turned out differently. Maybe he would’ve disclosed the strange tail he hadn’t told anyone about, maybe he would’ve learned something about Punchline earlier and told everyone – just maybe, maybe, they would have devised a plan together on how to save Tim.

Instead, there he was, pathetically alone with no backup whatsoever, trapped in an abandoned warehouse god knows where – and the irony wasn’t lost on him – with no plan in sight. He was barely able to keep his thoughts straight in the face of his biggest fear, his mind thrashing at the chains he forced upon himself. Despite it all, he wanted to keep a clear head, knowing it wouldn’t take much for his fears to jump back in time, to muddle the past with the present before they all became one.

Joker was speaking to Tim but the boy wasn’t responding, not even a hitch in his breath, as the realization weighed heavy in Jason’s chest: if came down to hurting Tim, he wouldn’t do it. He’d rather take a bullet than hurt him again.

But if Tim had to hurt him?

Jason wouldn’t blame the teen. Why would he when, in some twisted way, it was karma? Especially after what he had done at the Titans Tower–

Joker whirled around as if he sensed Jason’s gaze and waltzed over to him, putting a stop to that train of thought.

“You see, Hood, you would’ve been perfect for my plans two years ago.” The clown grabbed Jason’s face with one hand, his nails digging into his cheeks in an eerily familiar fashion as Punchline had. Jason’s eye twitched, skin crawling. “You were so close. You just needed that extra push, that little nudge in the right direction and you would’ve become exactly what I needed you to be. But no, you just had to go and fail me – fail us!”

Jason cringed as a dramatic sigh blew hot rotten breath in his face.

“But we all know what they say – children will always fail you. So I gave up on ever hoping you would succeed me; a lost cause.” Joker leaned in too close, his mouth hovering over his ear as the next words were clearly for only Jason to hear. “Well…I guess Batsy thought you were too, lil’ J, especially after he slit your throat wide open and left you for dead again, huh?”

Jason flinched back, chains rattling above from the abrupt movement, green eyes widening at the words and insinuation. The thick scar on his neck he always kept hidden underneath the armored turtleneck was throbbing, his heart about to drown from the flood of fear and anxiety threatening to overwhelm him.

“Shut up,” Jason hissed but even to his ears, his voice was small. “Shut up – you don’t know anything.”

Weak, a voice said, pathetic.

“Oh, but don’t I?” Joker asked, lighting up with a terrifying glee. He pulled away to waltz around Jason, resting both hands on his shoulders. Although Jason was a large man with a lot of bulk, Joker was by no mean small, quite frequently standing toe to toe with Bruce. By pushing Jason down, the chains lowered him the slightest until his feet were limp behind him. Jason tried desperately to shove the clown off, his skin crawling with the idea of simply being touched, but the hands remained firm in their grip.

“But anyways, I moved on, went down the totem pole and chose the next little Robin who, once again, fell a little too far from the nest! Jeez Louise, you Bats really just never learn. It was too easy; in fact, even easier than you.” Joker whipped himself to Jason’s other side. “And boy oh boy, your replacement over there sure didn’t disappoint!”

Punchline skipped over to Tim, who remained frozen in the old wheelchair. She whispered something to the kid and for the first time since Jason was brought to the room, he reacted with giggles, pupils blown wide as he was wheeled into the camera view. Joker continued his monologue but Jason found himself ignoring it, staring at his reflection in the camera lens and then at Tim.

…When would the torment end?

His gaze flickered then between Tim and Joker.

The man who plagued the city and was his killer, walking free and alive. How many had he killed only to stand there, live on camera to the world, as he recollected his obsession with the Bats? How many times would Robin, dead or alive, be a victim at the hands of the sadistic clown before someone finally said enough? Every single Bat had suffered at some point amid the Joker’s unending reign of terror, and until now, Jason would have been an obvious contender for the top spot.

But looking at Tim, so skinny and frail in the wheelchair and forced to be a replica of Joker – there was no way the kid was walking out of this even remotely okay.

Lost in his thoughts, Jason didn’t catch the Joker whirling around and backhanding him – his head flew to the side, the wound on his scar throbbing once more as a trickling sensation ran down his cheek, signaling it had reopened.

“It’s rude not to listen,” Joker wagged a finger in his face.

“Yeah, well, you can fuck off.” Jason glared at him. “I could care less about the bullshit that’s spilling out of your mouth.”

Joker gasped but only an idiot would think he was being serious. “Don’t you want to know why I invited you here?” Jason opted to stay silent, knowing that the Joker was a goddamn yapper if anything, never knowing when to shut the fuck up. Loved the sound of his own voice enough to make Jason want to vomit again. “You and Junior, what a crime-fighting duo you two make! Well, you two interrupted my precious plans a month ago so we had to postpone sending out the invitations. Clearly, some didn’t RSVP. Should we send them out again? With me, you, and Junior over there, we’re only missing one more person.”

One more…?

Joker, who had been facing the camera, slowly turned his head around, a knowing look amid the glee as he stared at Jason from the corner of his eye.

“Should we invite her too?”

Shit, he was talking about Barbara.

Jason began pulling at the chains above him.

He couldn’t–

He needed to change the subject now.

“So you’re telling me that all of this is revenge for the two of us doing our jobs when we busted your Joker Venom factory?” Jason decided to say. Like he had told Punchline earlier – Joker was smart but there was no sanity to his madness, his plans sowing chaos simply because he wanted to. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Ah ah ah”—Joker suddenly whipped out a revolver and cocked back the hammer, shoving it into Jason’s mouth—“you’ve sure got a mouth on you. Can’t believe I forgot about that. You Robins are a lot more alike than you all think, you know? Don’t know when to shut up.”

Jason kept his body still, crossed-eyed before clenching them close, trying to focus on anything other than the fucking gun in his mouth.

This is…easy, he tried to tell himself, recalling the hours-long training sessions that Ra’s would put him through with a variety of blades, with guns, with anything that he could get his grimy hands on. I can do this.

With a hand still on the gun and his finger a hairsbreadth away from the trigger, Joker began to monologue his usual shit that Jason had absolutely no interest in listening to, knowing it was going to be some stupid variation of the clown's typical rants.

No, instead, Jason was keeping his breaths even, trying not to think about how he was a trigger away from having his brains blown out, frantically ignoring the tangy bitterness of the gunpowder residue on the gun.

“–what do you think?” Joker slowly turned his head around, shadows ominously hiding half his face, jolting Jason back to reality. It served to emphasize the wrinkles, of the cruelty etched onto the clown’s very skin. “A reenactment with good ol’ Uncle J for old times' sake?”

That was Punchline’s cue; she walked over with a crowbar in hand, offering the weapon to the Joker. He took it from her in a dramatic fashion, brandishing it as though he was a knight unsheathing a sword. While the clown may have finally put the gun away, Jason’s eyes never strayed from the crowbar, his fucked up head forcing him to recall those horrible memories from Ethiopia all those years ago.

“So, Boy Blunder número dos”—the crowbar hit Joker’s palm, the sound making a disgustingly familiar sound that Jason recoiled at—“I’m just going to say that this time around? It’s definitely going to hurt you a lot more than it’s going to hurt me.” He raised the crowbar high in the air and–

Eventually, time became a blur, the pain ever constant. There was no break, no deviation from the brutal swings of metal on flesh. Amid the torture, Jason could no longer hold back the tears, unsure if it was from the pain or something else. He did his best to hold on, he really did, to try and push back against the flood of terror brought on by his memories and reality colliding, but there was only so much the human mind could do before it cracked.

In the middle of it all, he was Red Hood–

He was Robin–

He was–

“Forehand or backhand?”

The world came to a halt.

Robin was lying on the ground below him on the brink of death, skull broken and hair saturated with blood from Joker's relentless bludgeoning. The kid was staring at him with a pair of dull blue eyes once fawned over by his late mother, and it crushed Jason to admit that those eyes were no longer as familiar as they once had been. His eyes were swimming in tears, spilling into the freshly carved J on his cheek, turning the blood from the raw wound pink. His mouth opened and–

You? You’re my future?

Jason’s heart fell.

That’s right, kid. I’m what you become.

Robin dragged himself forward but it was too little, too late. The warehouse was rigged to explode, the bomb Joker leaving behind far too complicated for him to defuse in time.

Where’s B? Doesn’t he save us?

The kid cried as Jason watched a red line appear on his neck, until it began to bleed. The blood began slowly, oozing only the slightest, but as time went on the jagged tear ripped open, becoming bigger and bigger until the kid was lying in a growing pool of his own blood. Little Robin turned to face Jason, watching his older self with a hand pressed halfheartedly against the wound. It did little to staunch the blood spilling between his fingers.

Jason wanted to cry.

He was crying, wasn’t he?

No, he doesn’t save us. He doesn’t get here in time.

He knew that at his core, he had forgiven Bruce for Ethiopia. For all his misguided anger, for all of his rage, he had never blamed the older man because that hadn’t been his fault. Bruce wasn’t to blame then, not when Jason had been the one to run away, foolishly believing that he could save a woman who had cared nothing about him. He never faulted Bruce for that.

Jason wondered if B knew.

But then two years ago the warehouse incident happened. A Batarang sliced his neck open and B saved Joker. There was betrayal and then there was that, a mixture of emotions that Jason would never be able to formulate words for. The closest he could think of was heartbreak, a shattering of his spirit as his…as his father made his decision. Out of all the strategies and scenarios Jason had considered in preparation for that encounter, betrayal of that magnitude had not been one of them. He told himself over and over again that B had made a simple mistake, that his fingers, for once, had slipped – but hadn’t the man, time and time again, instructed them all never to throw a Batarang if they weren’t certain of its target?

Not that it mattered anymore. He had been left behind underneath a collapsing building, under tons of brick and concrete and rebar. The first time Jason had been buried, he had no recollection of digging himself out of his grave and he was grateful for that lost memory – because digging himself out of the collapsed building? That had been a horrific experience that traumatized him to this day; fingers bloody and raw, nails torn apart, gasping for air.

It had been brutal. Now on certain days, even a comforter was too heavy, suffocating him beneath its weight.

I’m scared.

Jason’s head fell forward, unable to watch as Robin died in front of him.

Me too, kid.

Bloody saliva drooled out of Jason’s mouth, landing with a splat on the floor as his body swung from the ceiling with every hit. One eye was nearly swollen shut and he could barely look out the other, his vision blurred from tears.

I don’t want to die.

He could’ve laughed, truly, at the irony behind Robin’s statement. But he couldn’t respond to the kid, not when he’d be comforting a ghost with lies. No, he refused to betray that secret that he kept close to his chest at all times, unwilling to uncover it for fear of it becoming true.

I’m sorry.

Will you…tell me a poem? Just like Mom used to?

“...S-Sure, k-kid,” he mumbled, hallucinations spilling into reality until he didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t.

He could do that.

He was good at that, too. Mom always loved to hear him recite poems.

Although the Joker paused in his attack, tilting his head, Jason’s body was aflame with pain. “What’d you say?”

“I’ve…” A small chuckle escaped, the laughter a searing pain across his chest. “I’ve got…a g-great poem for y-you,” he gurgled, tripping over his words from the bloody saliva. “C-Can’t…really r-remember the…the beginning, t-though.”

It’s okay.

“…I-If…anything”—Jason closed his eyes, head lolling to his side as he swayed—“might…r-rise him n-now…”

“Did I crack your head a little too hard already?” asked the Joker but it did little to stop him. He was having fun with the torture, spouting off nonsense that Jason wasn’t even comprehending. He went on and on, and as Jason continued to mutter incoherently, it became evident that his lack of response was beginning to irritate the clown.

But unlike last time, there would be no begging, no crying for B, no tears in hopes of temporary relief from the pain. No. Even amid his confusion, Jason knew to never let the Joker win, to never give him the satisfaction of fully breaking him into a screaming mess.

Jason was coming close to his limits, there was no denying that, but there would be no surrender.

“The k-kind–”

Joker loomed over him and he was fifteen–

Wait, no, that wasn’t right, he was–

The world spun around Jason. He didn’t know where he was, forgetting why he was there. Was the Joker aiming a gun at him? He squinted his eyes. Ow, that wasn’t the move. Wait, no, that wasn’t a gun, that was a crowbar. He was…saying something? The clown’s mouth was moving but…Jason could only muster apathy in response – the ringing in his ears drowned out all sounds around him.

“T-The…kind,” he mumbled, “o-old sun...w-will know.”

He had no more energy.

We were good, weren’t we?

His head fell forward.

The best.

And Jason closed his eyes.

Chapter Text

Jason strolled up to the manor, motorcycle helmet in hand.

“Master Jason, how nice of you to finally join us,” Alfred said with his infamous raised brow in lieu of a greeting.

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to be late. There was an accident on the turnpike so traffic leaving the city was a pain.” But there was no heat behind Alfred’s ire, the two of them knew that, so he quickly followed after the butler to the dining room where he was the last to arrive.

He quickly sat down on the sole chair available along, beside but diagonal from Bruce who sat at the head of the large dining table. Wasn’t his personal choice if he had gotten a say but being that he was late, he couldn’t really complain about the arrangement, not without receiving an earful from everyone alongside that constipated frown he knew Bruce would give him.

Besides, his relationship with the man was better these days, knew what buttons not to press. On days like today when they were all together, he would be cordial because he was nice like that.

Did it help that he wasn’t feeling spiteful?

Of course it did.

So Jason let the varying conversations wash over him, a warmth of contentment he never believed he’d experience again a blanket around his shoulders as he dug into his meal. Everything was right with everything. He was home, he had a good relationship with everyone, and he had no reason to be afraid–

Brows furrowed in confusion.

…Afraid?

Of what?

“You good there?”

Jason looked at Tim from across the table. “Yeah, why?” he responded, shoving a carrot into his mouth.

“You’re being weirdly quiet is all.” The kid was looking at him but…something was off with the stare, Jason just couldn’t pinpoint what it was that was nagging at him.

Whatever.

“It’s just one of those days.” He went back to eating and before long, dinner was over, dishes were collected, and one by one, everyone left the dining table until he was left alone with Bruce and Tim.

Satisfied, he didn't bother holding back the growing yawn in his chest, desperate to stave off the weariness that accompanied a deliciously home-cooked meal. Yet, instead of welcoming that rush of relief, his cheek burst into pain from the abrupt stretching motion and he reflexively wiped at it with the back of his hand. Pulling his hand away, he was quick to notice the strange smear of blood.

And from the corner of his eye, he was growing concerned with how eerily still Tim was in his seat, head cocked and staring at him with those owlish eyes of his. Where was the typical chatter, the fidgeting in the seat?

Whatever the situation was, Jason’s nervousness was quickly beginning to get the better of him as the staring continued with unblinking eyes. He was about to say something when he watched in horror as the black in Tim’s hair began to melt away, leaving behind a nauseating vivid green that was hauntingly similar to that of…of the Joker?

“What the– ” Tim twitched, his hair casting shadows across his now-hidden eyes. Without warning, he shot out of his seat, sending the ornate dining chair crashing to the ground. “...Tim?”

In response, the corners of the young teen’s mouth slowly curled up in an unnatural and cruel smile, emphasized by the shadows of his face. Jason whipped his head around to Bruce, the older man doing nothing but watching the horror show before them.

“B, what the hell?” he cried out, “do something!”

But the man remained his ever-silent self. Tim swayed where he stood, Jason somehow unable to move from his seat; it was only after what seemed like an eternity did Bruce finally stand up. Instead of going to check on the obviously strange young teen as he had expected though, the older man did a slow turn around the table to his side until he stood behind Jason’s chair.

“What are you doing?” he asked, panic lacing his voice. “Something’s wrong with Tim–”

He tried to turn around, to confront Bruce because seriously, what the fuck, but he was now tied to the chair, ropes wrapped around his body keeping him restrained. A scream was building up in his chest from the terror of being trapped because it was rendering him so fucking useless–

He just didn’t understand what was happening–

He paused mid-thought as he looked down, his senses suddenly assaulted by the heavy scent of copper as he was instantly overcome by the sight of blood suddenly soaking his entire body. There was red everywhere; the crimson was drenching the entirety of his uniform – hadn’t he been wearing casual clothes – as he was practically drowning in it, and to make matters worse he didn’t know if it was his or–

Gritting his teeth, he began to pull at the ropes, trying some way to escape, but gloved hands slammed onto his shoulder, digging into him as they painfully held him in place. Bruce shoved Jason's head forward, forcing him to watch as whatever was visible of Tim’s skin began to pale, his already ill pallor transforming into an unnatural white. That creepy stare of his was beginning to grow wild, the giggles escaping from his painful smile only growing in intensity.

“Watch,” Bruce growled from behind Jason. “This is all your fault, you know?”

Jason’s heart hammered against the cages of his chest. “I don’t understand.”

“You could’ve saved him,” the older man continued, ignoring him, “but you chose not to.”

The anger burned in him because how dare he say that, how dare Bruce claim that Jason stood aside as Tim was kidnapped when no one even fucking told him–

…Kidnapped?

That …wasn’t right, they had just been eating dinner. There was no time for this, not when he was trapped as Bruce–

No, not Bruce but Batman – Batman was keeping him here, the cold blade of his Batarang a hairsbreadth above the flesh of his neck. Hovering above his scar.

Jason wanted to scream.

The room was decaying before his very eyes, the dining table he had eaten at only mere minutes ago broken and rotting, falling apart at the legs. Tim remained standing in front of his chair, half of his face hidden by the shadows caused by the flickering lights, the swaying broken chandelier creaking above them.

He began to twitch again.

If Jason didn’t know any better, he would’ve said that Tim was seizing from how violent they were – but all thoughts came to a halt, a standstill in the chaos of his mind when from the young teen’s shadow behind him a figure was beginning to emerge. Opposing and frightening, a cackle was its entrance, crawling out from the darkness.

A single gloved hand, a purple sleeve–

Jason’s eyes widened, the blade pushed dangerously against his Adam’s apple. Batman stayed an ominous figure behind him as the Joker fully emerged from the pits of hell, slowly turning around and grasping Tim’s shoulders. He was watching Jason from behind the young boy, that unmistakable grin growing and growing and growing.

“I never should’ve taken you in – look at where it got me; an ungrateful street rat who never listened, who thought he knew better. Tim would’ve been safe, you know, never would’ve been Robin if you just hadn’t failed.”

“I–”

“Couldn’t even be a good soldier in death, could you, Jason?”

Uncharacteristically, tears began to fall from his closed eyes, the blade sliding into the scar as blood began to gush out–

0O0

Jason’s eyes flew open.

A dream.

But…

Even if it may have just been a dream, he was still waking up to a nightmare.

His eyes fluttered, a tired sigh escaping his lips. His body was aching in ways he had forgotten were even possible – it had been a while since he had been subjected to torture to the extent he was now; the last instance most likely when he had been stuck under the League’s control as a form of…training.

Despite Talia's best efforts to keep him out of the older man’s control, Ra’s was…well, Ra’s. He was cruel, his tactics sadistic. He would get what he wanted, no matter how cruel the methods he used as a means to subjugate his victims. Regardless of how skilled he got, to him, Jason was nothing but a liability.

Of course, Ra’s had been right – once Jason had emerged from the Pit, he had no intentions of serving the League, sticking around only long enough for it to benefit his own goals. But thanks to those brutal training sessions, Jason’s ability to disconnect from pain was even furthered until it left him to now, trapped and numb with mental turmoil instead.

That, tragically, was a whole beast that not even the immortal Demon Head could touch – no, that was a villain of Jason’s own doing, his own worst enemy.

“Oh, you’re awake?” Jason blinked a few times to clear his vision, watching halfheartedly as Joker waltzed over to him. He attempted to move but found himself bound, tied to a wooden chair that was much too small for his large frame, eerily similar to his dream. “You passed out before all the fun could happen!”

He winced as he readjusted himself, the sitting position pulling at the various wounds on his body. Tragically, the ropes were doing their job a little too well, effectively digging into his limbs so tight that he was unable to find any sort of weakness in them.

That fact that he could also see out of both eyes now was fucking amazing because it meant that his enhanced healing had kicked in. That did mean everyone, which unfortunately did include the Joker, had witnessed the decreased swelling in just a short amount of time.

God fucking damn it.

That was the last thing he wanted the clown to know about because that undoubtedly meant the level of torture would only increase from here on out.

“Go to hell,” Jason finally grumbled, mustering enough strength to snap back against his abductor. Unfortunately, his head did fall forward from exhaustion, weakening the bite of his words. He may not have been delirious at the moment but he wasn’t sure how long his coherent thoughts would last, not if there was going to be a round two of earlier.

Not if – but when.

“Now that wasn’t a very nice thing to say, was it?”

How long had he been out? Judging by the state of things, it had to have been a few hours at the very least, with rain battering the windows, howling winds rattling the glass ominously.

Joker pitifully slapped Jason’s face a few times, attempting to get him to pay attention. “Well, I had my fun. I think we’re going to debut JJ today. oh, is he gonna have a blast!” Jason’s eyes flew up at the insinuation. Was there a bomb? “Oh, don’t get your pants in a twist. There’s no bomb this time, you big baby.” Joker rolled his eyes, holding up a crowbar. He couldn’t help but shrink back at the sight of it, the clown obviously taking immense pleasure from his misery. “Nope! Only this!”

Then Joker suddenly whistled, a knowing smirk on his face when the sound reverberated throughout Jason’s skull, intensifying the already sharp pain throbbing from his head.

Definitely a concussion, he thought, which wasn’t good news for him.

…Then again, was any of this?

“Punchline, sweetheart, bring over Joker Jr. would you? After all, I think it’s time he really met the reject!”

If Jason had the energy he would’ve rolled his eyes but sadly, that was not meant to be – because what overruled that desire was the fact that time and time again, he still found himself horrified by the lengths Joker would go through to traumatize his victims. Unlike before with Tim tied to a wheelchair, the young teen was being dragged over from…somewhere in the back – Jason was still a little too out of it – with an odd look in those familiar blue eyes. Punchline stood behind him with a twisted smile warping her features, nails digging into Tim’s shoulders to hold him still for the Joker. The man was fiddling with something on the teen's lapel, having turned his back to Jason and blocking Tim from his sight.

Jason’s eyes narrowed as he craned his neck to catch a closer glimpse of his younger counterpart, nearly toppling the chair in the attempt. A horrified gasp left his mouth when he finally saw–

“Now, JJ, you listen here,” Joker began, finger now pointed in the teen’s face, “I’m gonna give you this crowbar and you’re going to wack Hood over here until he’s begging, yeah?”

Oh god, Tim–

“What did you sick fucks do?” Jason couldn’t help but roar out, horrified and disgusted beyond belief. “You– His mouth–”

Joker had carved a smile into the kid’s mouth.

Joker whirled around at record speed, grabbing his face with one hand and a knife in the other, hovering the pointed end directly above his eye.

“Ah ah, I would think twice about your next words, Hood. Even if you can heal fast, I doubt you can regrow an eyeball, yeah?” Joker darkly hissed, putrid breath washing over him. The clown shifted the blade until it hovered over his unblemished cheek, his other marred by the brutal J that had been carved into it years prior. “Should we add another to the collection, hmm? Balance things out?” Jason tried pulling away from Joker’s tight grip, unable to ignore the cackling that his movement caused. “You know what? I’ll keep that in the books for later.” After a few more seconds passed to let the threat settle, he finally took a step out of Jason’s space.

“Places people!” Punchline announced, taking this as her cue to raise her voice. “We’ve got a captivating audience waiting for our best show yet!”

Mass scrambling ensued. They dragged Tim off to the side and out of Jason's line of sight, leaving him alone in the sad excuse of a chair. He took this chance to mentally prepare for the next round of torture, opting to dissociate from his surroundings, because there was no point in even trying to think of any plans he realized, struggling to even string his thoughts together. Deep aches consumed most of his energy; his brain hurt, his eyes hurt, his arms, legs, abs, even his damn fucking toes. Everything fucking ached, a deep bone weariness that weighed him down.

It was only when Jason sensed bodies around him that he looked up, watching hopelessly as the Joker began his dramatic entrance into the camera frame. He hadn’t even noticed they went live but he…

He could only watch. Uselessly tied to the wooden chair, arms and legs bound.

If he was going to die here–

No, a voice hissed.

He blinked, eyes flittering between Joker and Tim, who now stood at the side of the camera.

That’s right, he realized. Even if he did die here, it wouldn’t be before killing the Joker – because if there was anything that would keep Jason going, it would be pure, unadulterated spite. There was just something wrong about dying before that fucking clown did. So he’d find his chance, there was no if, ands, or buts, about it. Eventually they would have to let him go, whether to lock him back up again or to take a break. They’d leave him alone and that was when he’d strike, find a way out to kill the Joker.

After all, not even death could keep him down the first time. There was no way he was walking away from this chance.

Jason fully returned his attention to the scene before him, Joker now with an arm wrapped around Tim’s shoulder – he had missed the young teen’s initial introduction to the world. His brain could only imagine the situation in the Cave right now, the horror running through the Bats given the way Tim looked and acted with those insane giggles and that smile carved into his face.

“–now, I’ve got a present for you, JJ.” From somewhere, Joker pulled out the crowbar, Jason’s dried blood flaking off the metal. “I’ve got to demonstrate though like a good Pops would, show you how to break the pinata!”

As the crowbar came swinging toward him, Jason watched blankly with half-lidded eyes, resignation weighing heavily on his shoulders. While he did register the hit and the way the air left his chest with a pain-filled groan, a part of him was undoubtedly checked out from the situation.

The whine in his only ears grew, drowning out Joker’s gleeful cackles. With that crazed look in Tim’s eyes, Jason knew there was no avoiding the torture that was to come at the teen’s hands, and he was oddly okay with it. No fear, no anger, nothing – which in retrospect was not a healthy response to everything that was happening to him, but he never claimed to be mentally stable, did he?

Rather than be angry and waste unnecessary energy, he chose to bid his time. He could only hope that somewhere in there, smothered and trapped underneath the drugs and torture, Tim knew Jason didn't blame him for what was to come.

A high-pitched giggling forced Jason to look up. Standing in the clown’s place, crowbar raised high and posed to swing, stood Tim, Joker suit and all.

So it began.

For a blissful moment in time, he wasn’t real. He was floating, watching from the sideline as Tim repeatedly brought down the iron onto his broken body.

Arm.

Crack.

Leg.

Bam.

Stomach.

A vision of the Joker flickered between the brutal hits, Tim and the clown blending into one before separating, leaving Jason unable to differentiate between the two at times. But Jason had grown indifferent to it, a twisted part of him believing that he deserved everything that was happening to him.

He had hurt Tim horribly years ago and while he had apologized to him since, that didn’t mean everything was right in the world. The frenzy of rage that the teen was worked up into had to have come from somewhere, regardless of the Joker Venom's effect, every hit growing harder and harder.

And Jason…Jason wasn’t going to hurt Tim.

There was a pause in the attack. Jason forced his head to turn up, wincing from the pain radiating from everywhere, expecting to find the Joker’s manic smile emphasizing the carved one – but instead, fresh tears were pooling in the kid’s eyes with more pouring down his cheeks, ruining the black and white makeup smeared all over his face. He was just staring at Jason. His arms were still raised high above, the crowbar shiny with blood.

“N-No,” Tim suddenly whispered, only loud enough for him to hear. “I-I…I–” Despite the crazed eyes, Tim kept looking at the ropes and Jason, back and forth and back and forth.

“Don’t stop, Junior!” Joker cackled, clapping his hands. “You’re doing swell!”

Tim viciously flinched at the laughter, breaking the moment, and Jason–

Jason tensed, expecting the crowbar and subsequent pain, and pulled his body as inward as possible despite knowing how tightly the ropes were tying him to the chair. That was when he noticed that his shoulders felt…loose. His eyes flew open. He began pulling even more, quickly glancing at the chair and testing the ropes as slyly as he could, finding that–

Oh, Tim, Jason realized, you genius motherfucker.

The kid had aimed at the weak spots on the chair amid the chaos, had used the sharper edge of the crowbar to fray the rope keeping Jason tied down. Joker, too high off of what he thought was a success in a broken-in Joker Junior – whatever the fuck that meant – was too blind to see otherwise.

Tim had given him a chance to break free.

That split second of hesitation from Tim was all Jason needed as he pulled. He yanked and twisted and pulled, gathering all the strength he could possibly muster amid his injuries, muscles groaning from his shoulder and his arm down to the very ends of his feet, but he ignored the warning bells in his brain as he pushed his body past its limit. He didn’t have the luxury of hesitating because of his wounds – he needed to escape.

There was a groan from the ropes before his arms suddenly shot out, the fibers finally breaking with a loud snap. In the second he spared to look, Punchline was openly staring at him, green eyes widening in disbelief.

Joker, on the other hand, had grown silent.

Who was laughing now?

A fire was lit in Jason’s chest, every breath fanning the scorching flames, because something about the moment felt pivotal. This moment, right there in the abandoned building, body broken and mind grasping for relief, would make or break him. There was no doubt that he would be leaving this shithole today – but it would either be him walking out of his own volition or being carried out in a body bag.

No matter what, though, he was making sure Tim got out of here alive.

Speaking of, Jason took a quick look behind him. Although Tim had helped him escape, he wasn’t foolish enough to think that the kid was okay – it was obvious that he was fighting some sort of internal war, arguing with himself and hitting his head, trembling where he stood.

Jason took stock of himself, noting what was the most severe of his injuries compared to the least. At best, definitely one of the worst concussions of his life, if the throbbing and nausea were anything to go by. It was only courtesy of his background that kept Jason standing – that and sheer stubbornness, of course.

Fighting with pain was nothing new to him, a familiar companion in his battles. Although he wanted nothing more than to walk out of here without looking back, to do so he’d first have to go through the dozen Joker Gang members, Punchline, and the Clown Prince himself. A nigh impossible task in his current state. The odds were not in his favor, especially with how Tim was barely hanging onto his sanity over in the corner behind him.

His attention went to the crowbar by his feet, broken ropes dangling from his wrists. He picked it up, testing the weight as he swung it around until he finally rested it on his shoulder.

Then, with one hand, he pointed to the nearest Joker thug.

Rage roared throughout his body, accompanied by the Lazarus that screamed at him to get revenge – and for once? He was in full agreement. They wanted to torture him, to watch and laugh as he was beaten bloody, and expected nothing to fucking happen?

“You,” Jason growled. Nothing more needed to be said, the anger in that one single word echoing across the room. The thug trembled, hands fidgeting with the gun in his hand as his eyes darted between Jason and the Joker. He seemed to come to some sort of decision as he whimpered, dropped his gun, and fled.

It was a domino effect, causing several of Joker’s supposed loyal thugs to drop their weapons and hightail it, fleeing like the cowards they were. Amid the mass scramble, Jason heard what they were saying about him – glowing eyes, inhuman, a demon.

They weren’t wrong though, were they? He had died once, only to come back to life a twisted version of himself, angrier and brutal.

Only a handful of guards remained. Even with his injuries, he made quick work of them – pathetic. He’d either use the crowbar or the ropes still hanging off his wrists, having to hold himself back from snapping their necks.

When he came face to face with Punchline, he noticed the Joker was off to the side, the clown still watching him. She was saying…something, her mouth was moving, but Jason didn’t give a shit. He ignored her outrage and slammed forward, knocking her back into the wall. He pulled his arm back to punch her but she blocked the move, forcing his fist into the brick wall beside her. He noticed the shock on her face from the crack in the wall, the debris of what should have been her head but was crumbling brick showering over her shoulder.

“Tch.”

The shock of the punch that ran up his arm told him he was going to definitely regret that, but that would be a later issue. She was being stupid in her daze, her distraction enough for him to effectively trap her head in his arms to choke her out – she hit him with everything she could but by then, it was too late as he began to squeeze the air out of her. All the while he stared at Joker, carelessly tossing her body aside when she finally went limp.

Joker didn’t even bother sparing a glance to see if his beloved partner was okay, instead pulling out an ancient revolver from his coat pocket. The clown had two types of anger – one was hot, burning everything in his path with a laugh, and the other was cold, made him quieter but ruthless.

He wasn’t smiling anymore, that was for sure.

Jason immediately swung the crowbar as hard as he could. The clown dodged, jumping back and aiming his gun. In an attempt to narrow the distance, he weaved between the shots, none of them hitting as he got closer. But the Joker lunged forward before he could react, grabbing his head before he could deflect the move. They tumbled to the ground as Jason grunted from the impact, Joker landing on top of him while simultaneously slamming his head onto the concrete floor.

There was a moment where Jason briefly lost track of everything, unsure of where he was or what was happening, only seeing stars from the pain. He only came back into awareness when the clown began pushing his face to the side as far as it would go, twisting Jason's neck beyond what was considered safe. Although not able to see what he was doing, he started to dig his fingers into anything that felt soft enough because all he needed was just one second, just one moment to dislodge the Joker and shift the fight in his favor.

For a few seconds, Jason genuinely thought he was going to fail, that he was going to die pathetically here on the ground with Joker’s one hand now around his neck cutting off his air – but in the nick of time, he managed to hook onto something vulnerable enough to cause the freak to cry out in pain, quickly digging his nails into what felt suspiciously like an eyeball. Without missing a beat, he proceeded to throw a punch with his other hand; judging by the sudden gurgling and hands loosening around his neck, it had been perfectly aimed. He managed to shove the clown off of his chest using the strength in his legs, but refusing to lose the momentum, he reached for the crowbar he had dropped.

Move, he demanded to himself, pushing himself off the ground. Move, stand up and move. He brushed his sweaty and blood-caked hair out of his face, slowly walking over to where the Joker kneeled. The clown was eyeing him, hands grasped protectively around his throat as he coughed – Jason had punched him square in the throat, it seemed. The clown made no attempt to escape, which was definitely unusual, but he didn’t care enough to ponder over this thought.

He didn’t care, he didn’t care. He just wanted the motherfucker to suffer.

Jason didn’t even hesitate to send his reinforced steel-toed combat boot flying into Joker’s stomach, grinding his foot into the soft flesh afterward. The Joker proceeded to vomit and it bothered him none, only watching in delight as the clown gasped for air like a stupid fish out of water.

“Doesn’t feel good, does it?” Jason taunted, using the crowbar as a temporary crutch to lean forward. Of course, there was no response but he hadn’t been expecting one. He grabbed the Joker’s hair to pull the man up until they were only inches apart. “What did you say to me the first time?” Jason grinned, splitting the partially healed cut on his J scar open in the process. “That it’s gonna hurt you more than it’s gonna hurt me?” His bloody teeth flashed as he flung the clown to the ground. 

Jason dropped him and raised the crowbar, high high high above him, and let himself go. Over and over and over, the metal made a wet noise as it crunched against bone and muscle, blood erupted from the clown below him with every single hit. Disgusting metallic splatter flew into his mouth and into his eyes but he didn’t mind. He roared, tears flying from his eyes, the world blurring as varying emotions crashed through him. What started as euphoria for finally getting revenge turned into anger, before bleeding into agony, all of his heightened emotions crashing and swirling into a tornado that had no end, a destructive force as his past flickered through his mind like a movie.

Fifteen and still just a child, son to a man who should have protected him.

Sixteen and dead, an orphan quickly replaced by another.

Eighteen and now a murderer, a trained assassin with fractured memories of a life not lived.

Twenty and numb, left for dead with a slit neck by the one who promised him life.

Twenty-two and now broken, pushed beyond his breaking point as he brutally tortured the man who killed him.

Amid the repeated battery of the Joker’s body, his hands grew slippery and at one point, the crowbar flew out of his hands. It didn’t stop him, his fists now pummeling the Joker as he was on his knees, the anguish overruling everything.

Yet, despite all he was doing, the clown was still laughing. That cackling attacked him from the echoes, the sound forever haunting his every step. At this point, Jason was gasping for air from the attack, chest heaving as he shakily raised an arm again, his fist dripping in crimson.

“Y-Yes!” the Joker gurgled, turning his swollen head to his left, where Jason’s eyes immediately zoomed in on the forgotten camera, red light flashing. What small comfort he had in his revenge crumbled away, recognizing that for however long he had been beating the Joker, it had been live-streamed for the world to see.

While many knew of Red Hood’s reputation, it was one thing to read about and another to witness. His eyes darted between the Joker and the camera, recognizing that while there was satisfaction in the brutality of his actions, not everyone would share the same thought – even if the focus of it was someone as cruel and revolting as the man who lay beneath him.

“S-Shit,” Jason mumbled. He got to one knee, ready to take a shaky step toward the camera to destroy it when a cry broke his focus, forcing him to quickly whip his head around to where it came from.

“You better fucking stop, Hood,” Punchline ordered, standing behind Tim with an arm across his shoulder, her free hand holding a familiar knife pointed at his throat. “I won’t ask twice.”

Eyes darted between the Joker and Jason, Tim looking at him with such intense fear. It was a shock to his system because he had never seen the kid look so scared – a part of him was quick to remind him that Tim needed to be safe, he needed to be away from Punchine’s grasp because–

Because–

“Get away from him,” Jason growled. His voice rang throughout the empty room, his body trembling with uncontrollable anger and adrenaline. He was just so done. He was tired – he just wanted this to end. “Get your fucking hands”—he sprang forward, rage now all but controlling him—“off of him!”

Punchline barely had a second to spare to throw Tim aside before Jason rammed himself into the woman. She flew back with a painful cry, rolling several feet away. His attention went straight to a whimpering Tim, where the young teen was lying crumpled on the ground.

Was he okay? Was his neck nicked – he wasn’t hurt by that, right? Jason had uselessly watched Tim being thrown against one of the several concrete pillars in the room, too fucking slow – like always – to have stopped Punchline.

Jason quickly ran over, trying desperately to coax the boy from where he hid in his arms when Punchline let out a bloodcurdling scream, whipping her hair up from her face. Her expression was one of insanity, of rage and disbelief that was directed toward Jason as she pushed herself off the ground, smearing the blood that had begun trickling from a scratch on her scalp.

“You bastard!” Punchline screeched.

“Me?” Jason, who was tending to Tim, snarled as the kid remained huddling against the pillar. “If it was up to me, you wouldn’t even be fucking breathing, you sadistic fuck!” Jason shot up, pointing a finger at her. “You want a round two, bitch? Fine then, let’s go!”

He didn’t make the first move. Unfortunately for Jason, who was already running ragged from his earlier beating and the subsequent attack on Joker, was barely able to react in time to her attack. She launched herself with renewed vigor as they began to grapple with one another – she was trying to find a way to swipe his legs out from beneath him as he kept stepping away. While he had the advantage of height and weight, she was by no means a small woman, clearly a trained expert at close hand-to-hand combat. Even if he hadn’t been as injured as he was, fighting her with his full strength still wouldn’t have been easy.

“You’re going to die for what you did!” she screamed, spittle flying everywhere. If he had thought her crazy before, it was nothing compared to the insanity that was fueling her now. But that was fine, he thought, their insanities could go to war with one another, the raging voices in his own head fueling the adrenaline that kept him standing.

Seconds, minutes, hours could’ve passed and Jason would’ve been none the wiser, trying desperately to break her defense amidst the blows they were exchanging. He took several to the face and chest, his already precarious body hanging on by the thinnest of threads.

Whether it was just his sheer luck or any and all gods had finally taken pity on his poor soul, it didn’t matter because she faltered. For just one blessed second, she tripped. Jason took the chance with certainty, that one moment of hesitance all he needed to bring himself closer to her. She must have read his body and seen what he was planning but by the time she tried to counter his move, it was far too late.

Jason firmly grasped the right strap of her dress, widening his stance.

Check, mate.

In a blink of an eye, he spun around, pulling her into his space, shoulder hitting her chest. As their bodies collided, he was grateful for the grip on his boots because he used all the strength he could muster as he heaved her over his body. For a brief moment in time, she soared above him, trying desperately to find an angle to fall for the least amount of damage, but that strange spell was broken when he proceeded to pull. He slammed her to the ground, his strength a supplement to gravity as she crumpled, head-first, onto the hard concrete. It was a move he seldom used due to how high risk it was for both parties involved – there was too much of a risk of breaking his opponent's neck, leaving them either dead or paralyzed, and he would be too open to a counterattack directly after.

But he didn’t care.

He didn’t care.

There was a resounding crack as Jason, unable to stop his own momentum, fell on top of Punchline, her trapped arm now bent at an unnatural angle in his grip as intense pressure erupted from his side.

Pain jarred his bones and shoulder as he grunted from the impact but it was nothing compared to the sudden eerie silence from the woman below him. He quickly crawled off Punchline, taking a second to catch his breath on all fours. From the corner of his eyes he saw her chest moving as she breathed, but her body…wasn’t moving. Not a single twitch, not a shiver or a huddle – nothing.

“W-What did you do?’ she rasped, eyes following him as he forced himself to stand. “I-I can’t move. What the hell did you do to me!”

He tilted his head, recalling her fall, but found that he didn’t care to bother to piece together what had happened. Ignoring her cries and screams, he limped over to where Tim had stayed curled in a fetal position, hands covering his head while wheezing through the unnatural giggling.

He stopped a few feet away from Tim, unsure of what to do. “Robin?” he quietly called out.

“H-He–” Tim was violently trembling but pulled his arms away at his voice. “...H-Hood?” There was clarity in Tim’s blue eyes that hadn’t been there earlier, telling Jason everything he needed to know. A wave of relief washed over his body, a sensation that almost brought him to his knees. Despite how injured the two of them were, hurt and bleeding and just broken, the kid before him was still Tim. “J-J–” He raised an arm, pointing at… “S-Sto-Stoma–”

Jason looked down–

Oh.

He had thought Punchline had gotten a solid hit in his abdomen amidst their grapple, that the painful aching was just a punch that would bruise horribly later.

But no.

There was a knife sticking out of him.

His hand hovered over the handle but even in the strange daze, he knew not to pull it out. It was…weird – he had been stabbed several times, knew how his body reacted, but he would, without a doubt, be shocked every time. The pain was a dull ache thanks to whatever adrenaline pumping through him, the shock keeping him upright instead of falling over–

“Hahaha!” Both boys flinched at the wet laughter from the fallen Joker, who was watching them from where he lay. “Wanna…hear a j-joke?”

Jason muted out the Joker’s manic ramblings, instead dragging himself over to where he had thrown Joker’s gun away earlier. He hissed from having to bend over, especially with the knife sticking out of him, but he managed to pick up the weapon. He methodically went through the vintage revolver, finding eight rounds left in the chamber.

He turned to Joker, the clown was watching him strangely, eyeing the gun in his hand.

“Ever think…a-about why I b-brought you here, H-Hood? Why I…told P-Punchline to–”

Jason lined the gun up to Joker’s chest. He cocked the hammer back, finger hovering over the trigger.

“No.”

“N-Now n-now, I told…y-you earlier it’s r-rude to interrupt–”

Jason pulled the trigger.

Again.

Again.

Again.

And again–

Seven bullets emptied into Joker’s chest.

There was a strange ringing in Jason’s ear, the gun smoking in his trembling hand. He was strangely numb despite the screaming in his head repeating, you shot Joker you shot Joker you–

“C-Close, but n-n-not close…enough,” the body gurgled, blood erupting from his mouth. There were holes in his chest but the freak was still alive. Jason’s gaze hardened, aiming the gun higher. “W-What would B-Batsy…say i-if you kill me?” the clown hissed, staring into his eyes.

But it was here that doubt began to voice itself, his aim faltering because he recognized that if he killed Joker right here–

If he killed the Joker–

He’d never be able to go back.

Whatever relationship – if he could even call it that – he had with the Bats would be over forever, the bridge burned for all eternity.

“Y-You, m-me, and B – we a-always…come in t-t-threes!”

With that crude smile drawn on the clown’s face, Jason’s outrage bubbled over as his blood-soaked hands were barely a hindrance, the Joker laid out before him broken and bloody, one wrong breath away from death.

He gritted his teeth, fresh tears prickling the corners of his eyes. Would the clown’s death be enough to finally set him free? He wanted the Joker to suffer so badly – and was that really so wrong of him? It wasn’t as though Jason liked killing people – in fact, he hated it, knew that the blood would never wash off no matter how hard he scrubbed.

But they’d never forgive him – Bruce would never forgive him…and therein lay the problem. He would lose everyone, even though his ties to the so-called everyone were fragile at best.

Jason had to physically hold back the sob threatening to escape his lips.

Here, at this moment, he would secretly admit to himself that he missed Bruce. Despite his frustration at the older man, the burning anger and hatred that never failed to fuel their arguments, Bruce had been the father Jason never had. These past few years among the Bats, close but never close enough as an outcast, provided a glimpse into the potential life he could have if he gave up his guns. He knew it would take work but B would take him back…right?

A faint prickle ran along his neck.

No.

No, what the hell was he thinking? There was no going back.

He hadn’t been able to look at Bruce the same without recalling the terror of having his neck slit open, unsure if B was even aware of what he had done. And Jason knew his own death had changed everything, he’d be an idiot not to recognize the effect it had, but despite their past, despite all of their issues–

He still wanted to feel safe.

How pathetic.

For all his big talk of killing the Joker, Jason was right back to where he was two years ago, a repeat of the same scenario. Only this time, Bruce’s presence haunted him, those accusatory eyes watching him as he debated over killing the Joker or not.

Jason slowly looked behind him, to the boy he had vowed to save and protect – and saw that Tim wasn’t alone. The corpse of his younger self kneeled behind Tim, marred with blistering burns and an exposed skull, parts of his face rotted away. Two broken Robins were watching him, anticipating his next move.

When he finally met his younger counterpart’s eyes, intense blues clashing with his unnatural green, a silent question was asked.

After a moment, there was the faintest of nods.

Jason closed his eyes and took a deep breath before turning back around, his decision made. For a moment, there was a flicker of doubt in Joker’s eyes as Jason took one last look at his murderer, the man’s green eyes flickering between him and the gun.

“Y-You won’t kill–”

Jason didn’t even blink as he pulled the trigger.

Chapter Text

Jason stared at Joker, at the hole in the clown’s head. He stared and stared and stared–

He fired the gun again.

And again.

And again.

There was only a resounding click, the chamber of the gun empty, but for good measure he needed to press the trigger a few more times, just going through the motions and the clicks until finally, he lowered the gun and ceded to the emptiness that bounced back the growing buzzing. He stood there, god knew how long, just staring, expecting to feel…something – anything, really.

Instead–

Nothing.

Empty.

Numb.

“What did you do?” Punchline screeched from where she lay. “Joker? Sweetie, what’s happening–”

The strange bottleneck vision had faltered a few times until Jason’s mind stuttered back to reality, the functions that had stopped the moment he shot Joker starting back up once more. He blinked a few times to refocus himself before slowly turning his head; Punchline lay there motionless, hair strewn across the concrete floor like the ends of a mop.

He was on autopilot, his thoughts shockingly blank as one second, he was standing beside Joker and the next, above Punchline, one singular bullet digging painfully into his palm. Their eyes met and…just silence. The tension thick, one waiting for the other to make the first move, neither quite sure what would happen next; would she beg for mercy before he put this bullet through her? Or would he walk away, forcing her to succumb to her injuries?

“He’s dead,” he announced, voice monotone, as if it wasn’t groundbreaking news that tilted everyone’s axis off from the norm, as if he hadn’t just killed–

“W-What?” For once, blatant fear reflected back from her widened eyes, her already pale skin losing even more color. They flickered between the gun in his hand and his face, obvious in her fear that she would be his next target – because there really was nothing stopping him from reloading the gun and shooting her point blank if he so wanted. “Wait–”

Jason mindlessly went through the motions of opening the chamber and inserting the cold metal bullet into a random slot. He spun it, raised the revolver, and held it there, aiming it directly between her brows. She didn't move, only her eyes darting between him and the gun.

He’d promised to kill her, hadn’t he? Jason could’ve scoffed if he had the energy. Where was her high horse now, after all that taunting of torture and death, her ridiculous claims that she could best him?

As he tipped it slightly to one side, that strange buzzing increasing. His eyes swept over the revolting art haphazardly drawn across the gun, no response from that poisonous rage that had gone silent within him. Punchline’s breathing hitched but…

All at once, the tension across Jason’s shoulders loosened, knowing that this was a promise he was going to break. The desire to kill her no longer present, that oh so familiar voice uncharacteristically silent. He was glad for it. Killing Punchline wouldn’t have been worth the hassle or the blood that would stain him even further – not that he’d have guilt if he did, knowing that her ledger was most likely dripping blood red. But he had entered this room, albeit against his will, with only a single target in mind. His job was now complete.

Besides, judging by the looks of it, she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

A red blinking from the corner of his eyes interrupted his thoughts as he suddenly remembered the camera, realizing that the Joker's brutal murder was currently being streamed live to millions of viewers – and most likely more. That heavy dread was quickly smothered, though, the blazing flames extinguished by a powerful wave of apathy that had emerged from the depths of tonight’s horrors.

He knew what he needed to do. In the blink of an eye, he was aiming the gun without effort at the new target, trigger pulled. The bullet was perfectly aimed despite his lack of effort at the center of the camera lens, shattering the setup before any of them could even react. Without an audience, the weight of those eyes eased off his back for temporary reprieve. Punchline suddenly gasped for air from beneath him, her breaths loud as she choked through the fear that must have been suffocating her when he had aimed the gun at her. With a snarl, he threw the heavy weight of the revolver as far as he could, now rendered useless without a bullet.

The relief she suddenly began emanating was downright palpable but for only a brief second. That brain of hers quickly corrected itself as there was the realization that he could still easily kill her with his bare hands if he so wanted. Luckily for her, he didn’t, but she obviously didn’t know any better. She was clearly not above begging when he kneeled down, the words tumbling out of her mouth high-pitched and crazed.

“Don’t fucking touch me–” she was attempting to say, growing frustrated and fearful of the unknown. Ignoring her barking, he shoved his hands into her pockets, frowning when he couldn’t find what he was looking for until–

“Aha,” he mumbled, more to himself than anything. He held up her cellphone, using the face recognition to unlock it. “I’ll be taking this. I don’t think you’ll be needing it where you’re going, after all.”

“Come here–”

Jason began to dial a number, stumbling back to Tim. The teen was lying in a fetal position again beside the pillar, violent shivers racking his body. Incoherent mumbles poured out of him uncontrollably, clearly not well. Of course, Jason was no better, forced to take it slow as he slid down the pillar, trying desperately not to jostle the knife in his abdomen the further he went down.

He failed.

Miserably.

“J-J-Ja–” Tim gritted his teeth, pulling at his hair. “D-Don’t f-f-feel so g-g-g–”

“It’ll be okay,” he quickly interrupted, finally hitting the last number on the phone. His fingers weren’t responding to his demands very well and it had taken a few tries to hit the call button. “I’m calling a…friend.”

“H-Hot and c-cold and hot-t-t an-and c–”

Tim flinched violently when Jason, in a moment of comfort, put a hand on his head, but that had been expected. Yet when Jason pulled away, the teen shifted himself until the top of his head was pressed against the older boy’s thigh. Jason tried again and this time, Tim responded to this touch a little less violently and so, taking this as a sign that he could continue, Jason began to gently brush his hand through the green hair.

“–is this?”

Jason blinked a few times at the sudden voice, looking at the phone before remembering he had dialed a number. Raising it to his ear, he took a moment to think of his next words.

“Hey…Harley,” he finally said after what was definitely an awkward amount of time had passed. “It’s J–” He paused, eyes closing in confusion before–

“Hood?”

No, not Jason, he couldn’t be Jason to her because she only knew Hood.

“Uh, Hood, yeah.” That was close. “That’s definitely me.”

“Where are ya? Pammy and I–” She was saying something and he found himself beginning to drift off, unable to really pay attention, so he pulled himself together and interrupted her, knowing he didn’t have much time before his mind would grow confused once more. He was already beginning to have a hard time breathing, as if the air around him was growing thinner and thinner with every passing minute.

“Do you have anything for the new venom?” he asked, one eye opening to look at the shivering teen beside him. “Red Robin isn’t looking too good and I don’t know if–”

“We’ve got something but we’ve only tested it a few times–”

Jason shifted and–

“Shit,” he couldn’t help but hiss, a cold sharp jolt running through his body. That was not the fucking move.

Because fuck, that hurt.

“Hey, what’s–”

Deep breaths as he took a second to push aside that pain like he had been taught at Nanda Parbat – even though his past teachers, dead or alive, would’ve had his head with how horribly he was failing.

“I know you have Nightwing’s number, Harley,” he mumbled, face scrunched from the pain. “Call him. Tell him about the venom and what we talked about. They might have something already but I’m not sure, so he can, uh…” He trailed off mid-sentence and only when Harley barked out his name did he finish that thought. “He, uh, Nightwing, yeah he can tell you.” The Bats definitely knew already, though, there was no doubt about it. But he was being thorough and that never hurt.

“Hoodie, I need ya to tell me where you guys are right now.”

“I don’t”—his head lolled to the side and looked out the window, seeing nothing but dark stormy skies—“You know I’d tell you if I knew.”

“...Shit.” She was saying something to Ivy but her voice was either too muddled or he just wasn’t paying enough attention. He didn’t really care, though.

“Once you get in contact with the Bats, they’ll be able to figure something out.” Probably.

Hopefully.

Jason frowned at that thought. No, they would figure it out because, well, they wouldn’t ever abandon Tim. They’d throw him to the wolves, there was no denying that, but they wouldn’t ever abandon the teen to his own devices.

…Right?

But–

But then he remembered the whole fiasco with Bruce dying and going missing and how Tim disappeared off the face of the earth, only to return without a spleen. There was a sudden nagging voice in him that reminded him that maybe he wasn’t as close to the Bats as Jason had previously thought, that Tim going missing for well over a week before anyone noticed meant that he didn’t talk to anyone and–

And Jason–

His heart hurt at the thought.

“–Hood? Hood, please tell me you’re still there–”

Oh, yeah, he was talking to Harley. “Yeah, I’m still here.” Barely. “I’ll keep the phone on me but I think…I think I’ve got to go.”

He didn’t bother waiting around for a goodbye. He quickly hung up, the echoes of her screams slamming against his skull painfully. Turning to Tim, whose violent shivers were only growing in strength with every passing second, Jason couldn’t help but put two fingers up to the kid’s neck to check for a heartbeat, because there was always that chance that his fucked up brain was imagining it, that it was hallucinating Tim being alive because what if he had been too late like he always–

“W-W-Wh–” Tim’s teeth were chattering so bad he couldn’t even speak and oh god, Jason wanted nothing more than to kill Joker all over again for what that freak had done, to rip the man apart limb by limb as reparations for the brutality of the last two decades of sadistic horror. “H-H-Hurts…i-i-it hurt-t-ts.”

His heart was breaking in full, crumbling into the ash that coated his mouth, losing all ability to even think. “I know, I know,” he ended up saying a few moments later. As gently as he could, he began to thread his fingers through Tim’s hair again. “I’m sorry,” his voice broke, “I was too late.”

The thought of calling Gotham emergency services had crossed his mind but it would’ve been pointless. The Cave – and, of course by extension, Oracle – would’ve picked up on his call and traced the location faster than the ambulance ever could. But that would’ve defeated the purpose of his call to Harley. He didn’t know what the current status of a cure for Joker’s new venom was, if Batman had managed to crack the new changes or not, and that wouldn’t matter because the moment Tim got carted off to Gotham General, identities would be put into question and threatened and there was just too much at stake. He had to rely on the information he had gathered already and that meant calling the former psychologist because she was reliable, someone that hadn’t let him down yet in his times of need. Besides the Bats, she had the most information and experience relating to that fucking venom, practically an expert on it.

“He’s gone,” Jason found himself whispering, unsure if Tim could hear him, “and he’ll never hurt us again.” There was no response.

But he wasn’t looking for one.

Picking up the phone again, there was one last call he needed to make. It was a phone number that he knew remained unchanged and against his better wishes, had memorized long before Red Hood was even a name he had chosen for himself.

“Who is this?” Jason was silent for a few seconds, unsure of what to say when suddenly, there was a hitch on the other end. “Jason?” Dick’s familiar voice nearly made him crumble where he sat. “Jason, if this is you–”

“I can’t”—his head fell back against the pillar, looking up at the ceiling—“I can’t be here when he comes.” Silence on the other end. “We both know there’s nothing that’ll stop him and I can’t…I can’t go to Arkham or Blackgate,” Jason whispered. He’d rather die than be sent there, surrounded by those who would try to make his life a living hell. “I can’t,” he said, voice breaking.

“I won’t let him, okay? I won’t let him do that, so just tell me where you are–”

At the question, he couldn’t help the burst of manic laughter – it was the combination of blood loss and the insanity of everything going on. “That’s a popular question.”

A slight pause before, “Who did you call before me?”

“...Harley.” He had no qualms about admitting this. His association with the Sirens was well known, particularly after the downsizing of his gang. “You should be getting a call from them soon if you haven’t already. I also know you’re also trying to get O to locate where we’re at, so thanks, I guess.”

“Jason–”

With a shaky hand, he tapped the ground where Tim had his cheek pressed against the concrete. It caught the teen’s attention and he peeked one eye open. While the shivering had finally calmed down to a more manageable level, he recalled his first conversation with Harley about the new venom – a sudden burst of violence accompanied by a severe crash. He needed that antidote in hand now.

“Wanna talk to Big Bird?” he asked quietly, switching it to speaker and placing it in front of Tim’s face, not trusting himself nor the teen to hold the phone up steadily.

“N-N-Nightwing?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

After some incoherent mumblings from the teen, it got to the point that it was beginning to make no sense to anyone listening. Quickly turning off the speaker, Jason raised it back up to his ear. “As you can see, I can’t leave him here on his own.”

“I never said you would–”

“But I can’t be here when he–” Jason gritted his teeth, a hand pressed around the blade in his stomach. He pulled it back the slightest amount, wincing at the shiny red coating his palm. “So please, get here…before he does.”

“...I’ll try, okay?” Nightwing sounded as if he was about to cry, the fucking dick.

“You better.”

Without waiting for a response, he cut the call, shoving the cell back into one of many pockets on his pants.

Okay, that was done. Could he breathe easier? No, not really, the weight of his anxiety keeping him too wired to believe that Nightwing would get here before Batman. He had no doubts that every single one of the Bats knew already that he had spoken to Nightwing and he didn’t care about that, too worried about Tim beside him.

He just–

He didn’t have it in him to see Bruce, not after everything, not after Joker. That was a triple whammy blow that would result in pain on all fronts – physical, emotional, and mental. The toll wasn’t something worth paying for, never and forever. He’d had enough disappointment in his life to last several more, thank you very much.

Jason didn’t know how long he was in a daze for, vision blurred and eyes semi-shut, when Tim’s shivering started back up violently, jolting him out of his strange confusion. He placed a hand on the teen’s shoulder but the violent flinch from the touch caused a wave of guilt to crash over him, and he was attempting to calm Tim down when suddenly, a commotion coming from the hall. A high-pitched voice echoed, feminine with a heavy Jersey accent.

He only had a few more moments alone with Tim and so he quickly took advantage of it. “Hey, Red, I need you to listen to me.” He hoped–

Tim opened one blue eye at him. “D-D-Don’t leave-e-e-e, J-J-J…”

“I won’t leave, okay? I promise,” he lied with ease despite the weight behind the words, “but Harley’s here and she’s gonna help you, alright? And Nightwing’s gonna right behind her.”

Of course he didn’t want to leave, every bone in his body rebelled at the idea of getting up and walking away from Tim, but ultimately, he had no choice once he handed over the reins. While he’d trust Harley with his life, events like tonight meant that most of it was going to be out of his control. He’d have to grasp for any opportunity to be on his own, to be able to see the night through out of his volition instead of in cuffs being bound to Arkham or Blackgate.

“Forgive me,” he whispered, so faint that Tim wouldn’t have heard him.

“–are ya?”

He took a deep breath in preparation to shout a response but instead cried out in pain, unable to even yell due to the fucking knife in his stomach. He had half a mind to yank it out – but he refused to bleed out and die via his own stupidity.

It seemed that the cry was enough as Harley came barging in, gigantic mallet in hand and ready to fight. However, with one sweep of the room and the state of everyone before her – all unconscious – she lowered her weapon, attention quickly going to him.

“Hood?”

He pitifully raised his hand. “That’ll be me.”

She rushed over, dragging the heavy mallet as though it weighed nothing. Poison Ivy trailing behind. There was a vial in the scientist’s hand and he hoped that it was what he thought it was, that they had brought the antidote.

“Shit, your–”

He pushed aside her hands, pointing. “Is that it?”

Harley hesitated before nodding, Ivy’s mouth a firm line as she spoke. “We’ve only tested it on a few…participants,” the scientist said, clearly unfazed by their unorthodox methods. “We’ve made some adjustments and theoretically, it should work–”

“Then please, Red Robin isn’t–”

“But”—Ivy shot him a tense glare and he knew when to shut his mouth—“I don’t know what’s running through the boy. He could have been given an untested version of the venom or something else entirely. I will not inject him with the antidote unless I know for sure because I won’t risk an unnecessary death and the wrath of Batman.”

Jason scoffed, remarking the hypocrisy of the statement. After all this time, she was choosing now to be picky about infecting a Robin with an unknown compound? After the shit she had pulled for over a decade on every single iteration of the bird?

She must have known what he was thinking, narrowing her eyes in a manner that if he were on the opposite side of any other time, it would have him hightailing out of the room. Regretfully for them all, he was currently a human pincushion – all rational thought was bleeding out of him with every beat of his heart.

Before either of them could start a pissing match with harsher words, Harley’s face popped into Jason’s vision, interrupting them. “Doesn’t matter, Wing’s on his way and Batsy’s gonna be close behind. He’s the one that gave us the address – your Oracle traced our call and lucky you, we were the closest.”

They both knew exactly why it was lucky for him. Some tension bled out from Jason – figuratively and literally – as he weakly pushed her hands away again.

“Good. I…”

She was crouched beside him as she began first aid, hissing at the condition of his wound and quite possibly the entire state of him. It wasn’t much – just some gauze and tape surrounding the knife to prevent it from shifting – but it was undoubtedly better than a hand limply pressed around it. When she finished a few minutes later, startling him out of his strange trance, she had turned to face Joker's body, laid bleeding and lifeless on the floor. The prolonged staring made it difficult for Jason, somewhat more coherent from the pain of the first aid, to get a good read on the woman.

He couldn’t help but wonder what was currently going through her head – she hated what the Joker had done to her, what the monster had turned her into, that much she had told him over a few drinks. They were both victims of the clown’s violence, an unknown future brutally ripped out of them for the simple fact that Joker had wanted to. Sometimes, during those dark dark days, Jason’s mind tormented him with the big what if – what if Joker hadn’t killed him? Would Jason have turned into who he was today regardless? Would he have donned the Red Hood persona or would he still be Robin?

So much unknown with no answer, an unknown future that he’d never see.

“He’s dead?” her voice was uncharacteristically quiet, small and faint in a way that didn’t suit her.

“Should be.” Jason pushed aside these thoughts, though, not really wanting to go down that road with others around him. Those were thoughts for when he was alone, when his overthinking mind would play the events on repeat as he pondered over the changes he could’ve made for a better outcome. His eyes unwillingly drifted over to Punchline, who remained motionless. “I’d tell you to ask her what they gave Red but I think we all know she’d just lie. Probably better to just ignore her.”

Ivy sneered, walking over to Punchline, the injured woman having gone silent a while ago at Harley’s sudden appearance. “What did you do to her?” Ivy ended up asking, raising that infamous brow.

“You better not touch me–”

“I think I broke her neck,” he answered, eyes fluttering close. “She hasn’t moved since.”

“Joker isn’t dead,” she started to say but her voice was becoming more…slurred, as if the words were becoming harder to say. “He’s too–”

Harley slammed a palm onto the concrete, the slap way too loud to have been painless – unless the concussion was amplifying the sound, which could have been very likely as well – before shooting up. That strange look was gone, replaced with an anger and fury laced with a hint of craziness that fit her much more. This was the Harley he had gotten to know these past few years, the former villain turned antihero that he respected. There were a few seconds of heavy silence before she finally broke it, her tone emphasizing the anger that ran deep.

“Shut up, will ya? He’s fucking gone, kicked the dust, brains blasted, whatever the hell ya wanna think. He’s dead and gone and good fucking riddance. The city’s gonna be better without the man and while you probably don’t wanna think so, you’ll be too.”

“As if, you– you fucking traitor.”

“Lotta words commin’ outta your mouth for someone who just got beat by a tortured Hood, don’t ya think?” Harley rested her weight on the mallet and sighed, a few seconds passing before she continued. “Girlie, Mistah J wasn’t the man you thought he was. You’re young, ya mighta seen it otherwise, but the man never cared for us, believe me. We were just means to an end, arm candy that he’d cast aside the moment we stop listenin.”

“He’s–”

Ivy rolled her eyes before waving her hand and suddenly, vines erupted, wrapping themselves around Punchline’s mouth to effectively gag her. “Hood, for once, was right. Your words bore me. Save them for someone who cares.”

Jason snorted; he’d raise a cup to that.

“Harley? Harley!”

Ugh.

That voice was also familiar and Jason, despite the protesting in his body, took a deep breath. He slowly stood back up much to the dismay of the former psychiatrist. Pushed aside that pain once again into the furthest reaches of his mind, to grow as numb as he possibly could just so he could just move. He dragged his broken and battered body toward the entrance, refusing the aid Harley offered. He shook his head, needing to meet the older man on his own.

Within seconds, the Bludhaven hero came flying through the hall, the domino a sad attempt at hiding most of his emotions because Dick, for all his faults, was someone who cared too deeply for those he was fond of. He was fooling no one here with how emotionally exhausting the last few days had been for him, his typical barriers weakened from the stress.

He skidded to a halt in front of Jason, hands immediately outstretched. Without asking, he grabbed Jason’s shoulders to hold him in place, grip firm as he frantically examined his body, noting all of the injuries that even Jason most likely wasn’t aware of. He definitely looked just as horrible as he felt. There was only the knife and the pain at this point, the lines between them becoming increasingly blurred the longer he remained here without receiving the proper medical aid.

Although, he didn’t really want to admit that the window of opportunity to escape and find aid was closing by the second.

“Damn it,” Dick hissed, a hand hovering over the temporary gauze around the knife. He would’ve laughed at the identical reaction if it didn’t hurt so much to.

Jason felt…split. Two parts warred within him, one wanting nothing more than to shove Nightwing off of him, still hurt and bruised from their last interaction in the alleyway and the sour accusation that had been thrown his way. But the other part of him? Practically melted beneath the touch, starved from the affection Dick so often gave. Truth be told, he was starved of any affection, really, hating the fact that loneliness plagued his every move but was a consequence of his lifestyle.

God, he hated that even after all this time, even after their hostile screaming matches and their ice-cold relationship, there would always be a part of him that would go searching for the man. While not quite an older brother to him like he was to everyone else these days, Dick was still the closest thing to one that Jason had before his death. The man had been mean and an asshole but still gave Jason the time of day whenever he had been around the manor – which of course had been few and far between – but things were different now. They were different and that changed everything. They rarely spoke to each other these days and it was mutual, the wounds too deep for either to brush aside.

So Jason took a second, tried to remember this rare warmth. Tried to store this moment in the back of his mind, into a memory along with the others that maybe one day – if he even made it out of this – he could look back on with a melancholic sadness. After what felt like an eternity but what was only a few seconds, he successfully shuttered that part of him, pushing away the hands.

Pointing with his free hand to Tim behind him, Jason demanded, “Red needs you.”

Nightwing, to his credit, did look at Tim who was still being tended to by Harley. But he then turned directly to the knife in Jason’s abdomen and it was obvious that the Bludhaven hero was raising a metaphorical eyebrow to question his words.

Dick was fucking delusional. Jason wasn’t the priority, never was and couldn’t be. Sure, the man might have worried a little, Jason would give him that, but he didn’t have to keep up this charade. This…facade the man was playing, he didn’t have to act as if he cared because they all knew it was under false pretenses. He wasn't the one on the brink of death – well, sure, an argument could be made that he was in a different sense, but that was beside the point – like Tim was.

Everything had been for the kid. It was repentance for their past interactions, for the pain he had inflicted upon the boy. Screw it to hell if it was all for nothing – Tim had to live, he had to because there couldn’t be another dead Robin. Never again.

“Harley’s got an antidote…” Jason’s lightheadedness was getting considerably worse due to the blood loss, the room spinning around him as the burning in his abdomen began to tip into unbearable territory. He blinked a few times to reorient himself, leaning one hand on the doorway and another pressing on the bandages around the wound, quick bursts of air hissing between his teeth as he tried to catch his breath.

Shit…what had he been saying?

“Hood?” Nightwing’s voice slammed against his skull, faint touches on his forearm nearly overstimulating. “Hey–”

“I’m…fine,” he hissed between the harsh breaths, shaking off the hands. “Harley and Ivy got an antidote but don’t want…to administer it. You need to do something about that ‘cause Red isn’t looking good.”

It was clear that Dick was split between two choices, his desire to be beside both of them, but Jason knew. He’d known the moment they met in that alleyway those few nights ago. He’d always known. Not wanting to make it harder on any of them, Jason shoved the man into the room before he could react, toward Tim.

There, he thought, that way you don’t have to decide.

There wouldn’t have to be regret over the overthinking that Dick was prone to because there was none to be had, not when Jason had made the decision. If anyone was to be blamed, they could place it onto him to shoulder the weight of it.

Nightwing staggered a few steps, a pause in his actions, until Jason gave him a firm nod when he looked back. Whether or not Dick knew it, there was a sense of finality to their interaction that Jason was content with. That sense of apathy that remained after killing the Joker lingered still, that apparition with a heavy stare weighing heavily behind him. It was an odd comfort that helped settle his nerves. It helped keep him detached while watching Nightwing’s shoulders tighten as he skidded to his knees beside Tim, hands hovering and saying something to Harley and Ivy. There was even a rush of apologies and flying of hands before he drew blood from Tim onto some sort of device from his waist, where Jason could see the harsh blinking on a screen as it analyzed the blood and whatever serum the two Sirens had created.

Surrounded by the three, even with an indifferent Poison Ivy, Jason knew that Tim would be safe until the rest of the Bats arrived. They wouldn’t let anything happen to him, Harley having a soft spot for the Robins and Ivy loving her girlfriend so much that she dealt with the Bats. Nightwing was Nightwing, of course, no need to even doubt anything there. Tim being safe was all Jason had wanted this whole time and that goal was now fulfilled.

His job was done.

Leaning heavily against the doorframe, his eyes trailed over Punchline, everyone collectively ignoring her muffled cries of outrage, until they stopped at the Joker. The blood that had pooled around the lifeless body had stopped and despite all the scenarios his imagination had conceived regarding the man’s death, he was confronted with the reality that…the clown really was just a man. For all his sadistic cruelty, for how unkillable he had seemed, Joker still bled scarlet red like the rest of them.

He was disgustingly…human.

Jason spat out the bloody mucus coating his mouth, sneering as it landed with a wet splat.

As Harley said earlier – good fucking riddance.

He turned away, only to pause, eyes locking with Tim’s. The world narrowed between them. Despite the surrounding chaos, the teen was looking more alert with every passing second and had been watching Jason, mute in the face of all the people around him. The vial was still in Ivy’s hands which meant it hadn’t been used – so another wave, then. He refused to let that false hope settle in his chest and pushed it away, aware that without an antidote the temporary lucidity with which the teen looked at him would fade into the background once more.

Yet, for a moment in time, it was just the two of them. The two of them, a dead body, and the consequences of a murder. Whose? Maybe the Joker’s or Jason’s, no one would really know. But just as it started with a murder, it would end in one, death as a payment in full.

Jason’s mouth softened into a sad sort of smile.

It was time.

The teen, not having control over his own body, was powerless to stop Jason from turning his back to them, from slipping out of the room and back into the shadows of the hallway, a figure walking toward his death. The others wouldn’t notice him missing until it was too late.

Like always.

Jason, unfortunately, in his escape had stumbled down a set of stairs that had a flickering exit sign he followed and quite literally ran into one of the Joker Gang thugs that had fled earlier. They crashed to the ground and the woman, seeing him hunched over in pain and out of breath from slamming into her, stupidly ran at him with a war cry. With what intention, he didn’t know, because he was forced to grapple with her soon after. He’d barely made it out of that encounter, only luckily landing a pathetic hit along her jaw that knocked her out. It was just his luck, of course, that amidst the scuffle she ripped out the knife sticking out of him.

He blinked, staring at the bloody weapon on the floor.

Of course this shit would happen to me, he thought after a moment, aggressively kicking the offending item away. Whatever blood that had been plugged started up again, pouring down his already blood-soaked shirt and now useless gauze. He couldn’t help the painful groan bubbling in his chest, pressing his hand against the open wound. But regardless, he forced his legs to move, one foot after the other, slowly hobbling towards what he hoped was an exit.

He’d wasted enough time already.

He blearily stared at the front entrance for a few seconds before practically throwing his aching body at the double doors, tumbling several times across the pavement as globs of icy rain pelted his body. Blinked a few times with rain showering him, before slowly turning to his side to push himself onto all fours. He took a good solid look across the parking lot, trying to find some sort of monument or sign that would tell him where he was, when off in the distance he narrowed onto an entrance gate. Despite the torrential downfall blurring his vision, it was still a very familiar sight, one that stirred up complicated emotions within him.

It was the gate, of course, to the fucking Gotham Cemetary.

He whipped around at the building. Clenched his jaw in anger, realizing that the Joker had chosen an abandoned mass crematorium that stood beside Gotham’s largest cemetery as his stage, a location of death, a place that had housed thousands and thousands of bodies before their final resting place in a grave.

How fucking fitting of the Joker. God, nothing should’ve shocked Jason, not really, but every time his thoughts drifted off to tonight and what had happened, that old old burn of familiar anger reminded him that there were no lengths that the clown would go to in order to have the last laugh.

“Give me a fucking break,” he complained, using a hand on his knee to help him stand.

He paused.

The cemetery.

A morbid thought crossed his mind and after giving it some thought, recognizing that he had undoubtedly lost his mind and gone insane from the concussion, he began, at long last, his final trek to his grave.

0O0

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Jason’s eyes fluttered open. He was slumped forward, hunched over from the pain, back pressed uncomfortably against his gravestone. In front of him a hauntingly familiar digital clock with a countdown, every second accompanied by a familiar ticking that exploded in his eardrums.

Someone stood behind it and Jason…Jason tilted his head up the slightest, already knowing who he’d see. Once again, the ghost of his younger self followed him even now, the weight of guilt a brutal chain to life.

You think it’ll stick this time? the kid asked, dead body rotting even further than earlier. Bare feet discolored and broken, the exposed bones only highlighted the decay. He wasn’t affected by the rain, no, of course not, the water doing nothing to the ghost and his tattered Robin uniform. We won’t come back? Head tilted to the side in question as only one blue eye looked at him, the other socket empty and dark behind the ripped domino.

Jason blinked before he gave up, head falling forward with a weakened huff, blankly staring at the patch of grass beneath his legs. His hands lay limp between his thighs, bruised and split and throbbing to every beat of his heart. Streams of blood continued to pour off his body from the heavy rain showering him – a last cleansing, perhaps?

I don’t know, he eventually answered. Maybe – hopefully.

He was cold. So cold. His breaths were fast and harsh and there was no energy left to fight in him. He knew that with his lifestyle, there was no chance in hell he was ever going to pass peacefully the second time around – even though he had hoped for a quiet and painless death – and here he was, fulfilling that prophecy, chest tight, gasping for air, the ticking of the countdown to an explosion of agony and darkness. Was he going to die, alone atop an empty grave, with only his ghost as company? A bomb to end his life once again?

Blood dribbled from his mouth, landing with a splat.

His younger self squatted. No regrets, then? Robin asked. Nothing you want to say to me? To anyone?

I should’ve killed the Joker sooner, he thought immediately without hesitation, unable to muster the energy to say it out loud. That was the conclusion he came up with, the stark realization that spluttered out remnants of fury to trickle through his empty veins. There, you happy? I was a fucking idiot for not doing it earlier.

He had–

He had stupidly listened to Bruce in hopes of a foolish attempt at reconciliation because Jason, at his core, still hoped and dreamt and made rash decisions like that fifteen-year-old boy he once was, frozen in time by death. That fifteen-year-old Robin to Batman, the son of a man who claimed to love him. Despite all the blood and tears and fury between him and his once adopted father, he had stupidly dreamed of a day when Bruce would look at him not with that sharp disappointment and failure, but with the warmth of a father welcoming back an estranged son.

Stupid. He was so stupid.

Because between that path, the Joker had always stood an obstacle, an unbeatable foe with no way around, no detour to home – and all paths led only to death, either the Joker’s or his. There was no going forward nor backward, not when the high-pitched cackles followed his every step, the horrors forcing a gun into his hand. Tonight was clearly proof of that – if Jason had walked away and left Joker alive, the clown only come back like the cockroach he was, emerging from the depths of hell ready to hurt and torture another innocent. Joker already killed a Robin once, it would only be a matter of time before he killed another again – and he’d come too close this time.

So no more.

No more. That reign of pain and horror that Joker had tormented Gotham with for years now, at long last, over. The Clown Prince of Crime no longer, killed upon his throne for millions to witness in what was essentially an act of regicide – because for all of his claims of being a prince, the man was king, running Gotham’s underground with an iron fist and all too afraid to cross his rule.

…Yeah, you were real stupid.

Robin flickered before Jason, cycling through Dick to Tim to Damian, only settling when he focused hard enough back on his younger version. But that wouldn’t last long. He was in a daze, mind wandering and frightful at the same time, shifting between the two every few seconds.

Anything else?

Another truth? Damn, young him was a greedy one, wasn’t he? Fine then, another confession: he didn’t want to die like this, alone and cold, fear lapping at his feet.

God, that realization broke Jason. How could he when he was a rare few given a second chance to do things right? To do things differently? But he had no choice – he had seen enough to know that only one person was ever going to walk away from the events of tonight and he was never going to choose himself. Sure, he had his moments that tipped into destructive territory, thoughts that weren’t healthy and spoke of trauma and death, but–

But to be alone?

The anguish pushing against his soul was suffocating.

“Jason?”

He blinked and one second, he was blankly staring at the grass, countdown and Robin in front of him and contemplating what death would be this time, and the next, hands guided him to the ground with a familiar face hovering over him, easily recognizable despite the downpour and dark skies. The older man was saying…something, mouth moving quite aggressively despite the mustache.

“Alfie…?” he tried mumbling, his tongue stumbling over the name.

Though Robin was now gone, the ticking continued, so he knew he was definitely hallucinating now. A last hurrah, maybe, his mind knowing that at his end he’d want someone of comfort by his side rather than a dead Robin. Maybe that confession worked, his mind too scrambled to function properly anymore. He’d take it because Alfred had been his grandfather in all but blood and name, someone he could rely on, someone who, in spite of his past, still spoke to him with a warmth and fondness he didn't deserve but sought regardless. Sure, he was just a memory, illusory hands hovering over him, but even a hallucination was better company than none at all.

Jason shut his eyes, still conscious but no longer wanting to make the effort to keep them open. He was–

He was tired.

“–er Jason, you must keep your eyes on me.”

Was that…a hand on his stomach? Even with the numbness that had been creeping through his body, the pain from something pressing on him broke through the haze just enough for a groan to escape his lips, forcing the heavy weight of his eyelids to open into a squint.

…Alfred?

He blinked again.

Shit, it was Alfred.

If he was here, that meant–

“N-No…” Jason began to complain, tried to push Alfred’s hands away. No, no if he was here, that meant Bruce wasn’t going to be that far behind, and if that was the case–

He couldn’t, not after killing Joker.

“Jason, stop moving–”

“H-He’s…”

Jason would do anything not to be here, he’d crawl, dig his way back into his own fucking grave if it meant being anywhere but here.

“–Robin, instead of lurking behind me, come over here and hold him down. I must–”

He refused. Only over his dead fucking body would he be shackled and put behind bars, being told that–

Despite the fogginess of his thoughts, that alone was crystal fucking clear. His fear of Batman – of Bruce, of the patriarch of the Bats – was enough to jumpstart the trickle of adrenaline in his body. He began to move more aggressively despite the lag in his body, knowing that the trace amount of magic in his blood was the only reason why he hadn’t bled out in the crematorium earlier like a normal human being would have. He was certain that he’d crossed the line of the Lazarus-induced healing capabilities but–

Hands pushed on his shoulders, trying to keep him still, and he was being trapped and they were going to send him away and he wouldn’t survive that again–

“–to the Cave, I have to notify Batman–” Jason’s eyes shot open. When had he even closed them?

“No,” he snarled with such venom that Alfred was taken aback. The guilt panged, never having even raised his voice at the older man but fear overruled everything, all sensibleness having gone out the metaphorical window. “P-Please, anyone but him–”

“He will not lay a finger on you–”

But he was now too agitated, clearly disrupting whatever work Alfred had done on his stomach to try and stabilize him enough to be transported. He saw Robin – was it Dick was it him was it Tim was it Damian was it all four of them – just staring, the simple domino a window to green eyes. They were wide in disbelief but Jason couldn’t–

He wouldn’t–

“Please.” His voice broke into a sob. The next thing he knew, he had lost all control of his emotions, the cries escaping from his chest. While the rain hid his tears, they did nothing for the sobs, unable to mask the cost of what the last two nights had done to him. “Anyone but him.”

He was done – he was done, he just wanted to rest. He didn’t want to fight anymore, he was so fucking tired, why couldn’t they just let him–

Let him go.

Two heads popped out from behind Robin, each a different iteration of the bird but younger him was nowhere to be seen. Of course, of course the younger version of him wouldn’t be here anymore, because he was back down beneath him, dead and buried and long gone, rotting away until the dirt intermingled until one was the same as the other, safe from the judgment and fear.

“Maybe you deserve to be in jail?” Dick said, his Robin taller and older, meaner and rough. “You’re a murderer. Us Bats don’t kill, not even if it's the Joker.” Tim’s Robin stood a step away, silent, hidden in the back and protected.

Jason could’ve been hysterical but he was none the wiser, distraught over his inability to do anything. He was trapped, he was in pain, he couldn’t even breathe–

One of the Robins pulled out his phone and despite Alfred’s scolding, raised it to his ear. The darkness began to encroach on Jason’s vision, the air growing thinner and thinner around him. The last words to leave the boy’s mouth were too faint for him to hear as the roaring crashed over him, drowning him in his fears until it was all he knew and the darkness swallowed him whole.

Chapter Text

Some days, it was easier for him. He could think, could stay in the moment for a little longer than normal.

And today was a Good Day.

He didn’t remember much, just that he knew he was safe and warm, that he was never scared here. He didn’t know why this was so important, just that it was. There was always laughter, the Boy’s light giggles he couldn’t help but smile at. The Boy was small and called him a name that he’d already forgotten but it was okay, it never bothered them. He let the Boy jump around the room, a silent conversational partner as the Boy showed him something.

It was nice.

He looked out the large window, the cool breeze brushing against his face. He let his eyes close; the sun's warmth washed over his skin as it was setting, the crisp mountain air filling his lungs.

“My son.”

A familiar gentle voice. Opening his eyes, he turned to the Woman, tilting his head as he watched the Boy jump out of his arms and into hers. She picked him up into a warm embrace with ease, a softness to her as she pressed her face to the side of the Boy’s hair. He stayed seated on the floor, legs crossed with some toys laid across the rug, as the Woman came over to let the Boy back onto his feet.

“How are you today?” she asked him, fixing the Boy’s messy hair.

He just smiled. He’d never answer, no matter the question. He just…he couldn’t. But she never pushed and was content with his silence, letting him be. Truth be told, he didn’t know why he couldn’t respond when she asked him these things – he’d try, of course, knew that he could, but his tongue would freeze and his vocal cords would fail him. Like a sudden weight on his tongue, he couldn’t speak and would just become angrier, unnecessarily stressing him out. There were always so many thoughts running through his head but with no way to explain them, so he just…didn’t. It was okay because he had to be okay with that. The Woman always seemed to know what he needed or meant, so it all worked out in the end.

The Boy was rambling about something they did today and she gently scolded him and Jason–

He frowned, brows furrowed.

Jason…?

That name–

“Is everything alright?”

The Woman watched him with her bright green eyes, searching for something in him that soon disappeared. Whatever had lingered in his thoughts faded away, buried beneath that strange heaviness in his thoughts that kept him still. The tension he had unconsciously been holding melted away, his brow relaxing as he slumped forward.

The Woman and the Boy just looked at him.

He smiled.

0O0

For one blissful moment before Jason became aware of the waking world, there were no worries, no anxieties. He was as light as a feather, simply floating through the sky to land on a soft cloud of white nothingness. He was at peace, calm and collected, unbothered by the weight of his past.

He was…free.

At least, that was until the memories plowed through him with the strength and speed of a freight train. He crashed hard, the impact of all his memories leaving craters in his mind and soul as he broke through the haze that had kept him under.

Like snapshots of life, he remembered.

He had been kidnapped–

The Joker–

Tim–

Alfred–

Jason paused. Alfred meant Bruce and by extension, that meant a whole slew of separate issues.

But…he didn’t hear that familiar echo, that ever-persistent dampness of the Cave, and there was none of that foreboding sensation of being watched no matter where he was – which then begged the question: where the hell was he? A hospital? Gotham General? But there were no loud beepings, none of the insane bustling of understaffed doctors and nurses that should’ve indicated otherwise.

He paused.

Well, if there was one thing he knew Bruce wouldn’t have risked, it was sending him to a public hospital. Not when there would be too many questions, too many eyes that the neurotic man that he was wouldn’t be able to hide from the public. Because even with Jason’s frayed ties to the Bats, there could be no risk of ever compromising any of their identities – not that Jason currently had any, as all of his personas as dead as his real one. He was essentially persona non grata, his identity quite literally no longer existing – which, if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t really mind. It came in handy more times than not.

But with his injuries, there was no way he could’ve remained in the Cave, not without some divine intervention.

So just where the hell was he?

Jason kept his eyes shut, breathing deep and calm, the incessant beeping from beside him helping him stay still by helping him keep count in his mind. The soft blanket laid across him was so unlike the scratchy hospital sheets, furthering his confusion, and it was only a miracle that the heart monitor beside him kept the same rhythm and hadn't spiked from the stress he was beginning to feel. He strained his ears to listen, in hopes of figuring out just where–

“I know you’re awake.”

Oh.

All thoughts came to a screeching halt.

Because oh fucking shit.

That was a voice he hadn’t heard in years, which had been intentional; the person was someone he had taken extreme measures to avoid and had done a good job thus far, he had thought, only using the items and safehouses they’d given him sparingly since they…parted ways.

And he used that word loosely.

God, Jason prayed that he was just dreaming, that his mind was once again hallucinating strange figures from the combination of injuries and whatever concoction of drugs pumping through his veins – because otherwise meant that he’d have to face them head-on in a collision course to disaster. He wasn’t even sure on the level of a stranger to Bruce where they’d rank, but it was a close second to the man.

So while he knew it was definitely a bad idea, he feigned unconsciousness regardless of the demands, but seconds later there was a clicking of expensive heels on the floor echoing throughout the room, growing louder until they came to a stop to his right. There was a huff and some shuffling of clothes, and he could just feel the heavy weight of annoyance pressuring him, those eyes setting fire to his anxiety.

“Will you stop this nonsense and open your eyes? You’re behaving like a child right now.” A few seconds passed. “If this is an attempt at hiding from this conversation, don’t bother. It’s one you won’t be avoiding.”

After some internal deliberation – with a heavy dose of fear – he eventually gave in because what choice did he really have here? It wasn’t as if he could stay asleep forever. So with great reluctance, he steeled himself as he forced open his eyes, blinking away the crustiness as they watered immediately from the harsh lights above him. One second, he was wincing and the next, the lights dimmed considerably to a more manageable level as he was finally able to take stock of himself.

It truly amazed him how his whole body felt like one massive bruise, purple and black and disgustingly painful to even look at. He was sore, painful in ways he had forgotten were even humanly possible. His left arm was immobile in a thick cast, hands and fingers bruised – but mobile, thankfully – as the cuts scabbed over, and the bottom half of his body was buried beneath that surprisingly comfortable blanket. His legs weren't faring any better than his upper body, right leg immobile and the other just as sore. Considering he could feel and move his toes, though, he did take that as another win.

But nothing compared to the stab wound in his abdomen. The injury hurt in ways that even the good painkillers being administered through the IV could barely dull, every slight movement or shifting of his body causing his stomach to flare up in a searing agony that pierced deep into his body, deep into his bones.

It fucking hurt.

Then, with some reluctance, his eyes finally drifted over to his bedside guest. Of course, making his entire situation so much better was the person glaring at him as though she could set fire to his obstinance.

Talia fucking al Ghul.

It was only sheer luck – and, once again, the extreme dose of painkillers in that hanging IV bag – that the heart monitor wasn’t reflecting the nervousness breaking through the heavy fog in his body.

Talia stood before the lone lounge chair facing him, arms crossed with that familiar unamused look on her face, impressively dressed as though she were about to enter a shareholder’s meeting with that pressed suit of hers. On the other hand, he was definitely not dressed for the occasion – pretty sure he wasn’t even wearing underwear.

Then again, he was feeling pretty out of it, so what did he really know?

From the corner of his eye, a pitcher of water on the table. It was just then he realized how thirsty he was, swallowing on reflex despite the dryness of his mouth – and immediately regretting that decision. His throat screamed in pain, dry and raw from what he could tell was the intubation and dehydration.

And bless Talia because, for all her cruelties, she found it in her not to torture him for too long, quickly filling up a cup with the water. After readjusting the hospital bed for him – as he was so incredibly weak and practically immobile – she raised an immaculate brow as she handed it over. His body, still weighed down by a mixture of the insanity that was his life and the fancy drugs, could barely lift his right hand to hold the cup, his grip too weak. He ended up needing help to bring it to his lips. He was frustrated and beyond annoyed and Talia, being the eerie all-knowing being that she was, could definitely tell as his ears burned through the aid.

“...The brat called you,” were Jason’s first words after the water, voice hoarse and painful to his ears, weak in a way he absolutely despised only emphasized by the oxygen mask he wore. He didn’t mean to sound so…childish, yet here he was, lying on a bed before a woman he hadn’t seen in years after believing – rightfully so – that he was going to die. Again.

He deserved some slack here.

She stayed silent for a few seconds, walking away to throw the paper cup into the trash towards the other side of the room. “Those are the first words you willingly chose to say to me in lieu of a proper greeting after two years of unwarranted silence? After saving you?” He would’ve rolled his eyes if he could but that would’ve consumed more energy than what he had, so instead he chose to keep his mouth shut; his refusal to answer was enough. It was fueling her annoyance with him, which he took a measure of twisted satisfaction from. “Imagine my surprise, Jason, when my son calls me in a panic, requesting my aid. You were lucky that I was here in Gotham because otherwise–”

“Otherwise what?” he couldn’t help but interrupt. “Because after all this time, I’m supposed to be grateful that you choose now to grace me with your presence?”

Her face remained cool, that emotionless mask she was an expert at wearing one he was extremely familiar with. “You were the one to cease all contact with me after your disastrous encounter with Batman and Joker, not me. If you recall correctly, I even advised you against that foolish plan. So do not pit your anger at me when it was a choice of your own doing.”

For a moment, he was taken aback by that familiar burn of anger sparking in his chest at her words, because he had thought the flame extinguished with Joker–

He sneered. No, not right now.

“As if I wouldn’t have been dropped the moment I failed.”

“I will not argue about the past. What’s done is done, decisions have been made, consequences faced. Regardless of your beliefs, I have kept an eye on you while respecting your wishes by staying at a distance.”

“You were just making sure I didn’t betray you to your Beloved,” he snarked.

“Jason–

“Because it’s always about him–

“You know what, let’s list your major injuries from head to toe, shall we?” Jason stilled, thrown aback by the abrupt change in topic. “A fractured skull, left orbital fracture, broken collar bone, several fractured and broken ribs, hairline fractures along your right knuckle and a sprained left wrist, internal bleeding alongside the obvious stab wound–”

He grimaced. Having her repeat the long list of his injuries only made him remember the how of said injuries, and it was the last thing he wanted to do immediately after waking up. “That’s enough–”

“Segmental fracture in your right femur that had begun healing improperly,” she continued on, counting with her fingers, “but because it was not the only one, several of your other broken bones had to be rebroken in surgery, which accounts for the casts. Alongside this were bruised organs, which I will not list out at this moment–”

“I get it–”

“And with the brain swelling worsening, the trauma surgeon was not willing to risk irreparable brain damage, and so the call was made to place you under a medically induced coma in hopes of lessening the damage already done by the traumatic brain injury. Thankfully, it had been the right call as it kickstarted your healing–”

“Goddamn it, Talia–”

There was a twitch – finally, a crack in her otherwise impeccable cold mask. Because if there was one thing he had always been good at, it was getting a rise out of the older woman. “Oh, I’m sorry, now you’re listening to me?”

“You’re the one listing out my injuries like they’re a fucking grocery list!”

“If my only concern were Bruce, I wouldn’t have spent my precious time and money bringing you back from the brink of death due to said grocery list, now would I? There is a very specific reason why you don’t see anyone other than me right now and why Bruce remains searching for you.” She crossed her arms. “Do you understand just how dire your situation was? You were one breath away from dying – in fact, if you were anyone else, you would have before you even stepped foot outside of that building, let alone that insanely foolish and dramatic stroll through the cemetery. What was even the purpose of that? To die above your own grave to…what, spite Bruce?” Talia scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief. “For all the money and magic in the world, there is nothing I could’ve done for you once you crossed that line; there is no third chance, no method of bringing you back sans the Lazarus Pit, to which we both are very much aware of your feelings.”

“That’s–”

“So you will lay there and listen, do you understand? Clearly, I am not above using my circumstances and your inability to move as an opportunity to have this long overdue conversation.” She didn’t bother waiting for his response, heels clicking on the tile as she stormed over to his side once more. “You are a fool, Jason, stupid and stubborn to a fault, running into fires that are not of your concern. I thought I’d taught you to be smart, to be better than those around you. The only reason you’re lying here in front of me – alive, might I add – is because I had the foresight to be in this cesspit of a city with a team on speed dial when I got word of that clown’s rampage of terror.” He flinched, properly chastised as though he were a teenage boy being yelled at by his mother. “Just because we have not spoken in years does not negate my concern for you, is this understood?”

Concern…?

His eyes flew to hers, identical greens clashing against one another, the cold burn of her anger watching him fixedly.

“You don’t”—the words choked up and he had to swallow the golf ball in his throat—“you don’t hate me?” Time seemed to stand still at his words. Despite all that happened and what he would blame on the painkillers later, he found himself grabbing hold of that first thought in his mind, of the question he couldn’t help but ask, the words spilling out of him before he could hold them back. But the unexpected hope that arose from his sudden question was quickly smothered by the rush of embarrassment running hotly through him – because what the fuck? What was he, five? He sounded like a child in search of a mother; what the hell was wrong with him?

He opened his mouth prepared to take it back when all ire on Talia’s face bled away, replaced with a softness he didn’t understand, a glimpse beneath to her true emotions that she so rarely allowed others to witness – or as much as she would allow him to see, anyway.

“No, Jason.” She raised a hand, only placing it gently atop his head when he didn’t flinch away, careful of his wounds, of the stitches and bruises.

Just what was she hiding? a dark voice slithered through his thoughts, pushing back against the part of him that was starved of touch. “I mean, I tried”—he was spluttering, at a loss for words—“I failed and you were angry, you were going to send me away–”

He knew Talia, knew the way her mind worked; she was always several steps ahead of everyone, twisting around and concocting plans to turn situations in her favor. There was no way she’d be doing this out of the kindness of that cold heart of hers. There just…there had to be a reason, something she was planning that required him once he was healed – or even worse, right now. But if that were the case, she was shit out of luck – he could barely breathe on his own, let alone move. So there had to be a reason for this…sudden turn of events because otherwise, she’d have nothing to gain, and that was impossible.

“No, you sent yourself away,” she corrected softly, voice settling over him in a warmth that was just so familiar, all thoughts coming to a standstill. “I don’t admit this lightly but…I must rectify my own failures for not killing that clown before your hand was forced to. If, for any reason, to have saved you from this agony.”

And he…

The tears escaped his control and it was too late to hide them, too late to hide how those words affected him, how they struck him down to his core and to the very soul of his existence because no one–

No one had ever–

“It is a parent’s failure, after all, to see their child in such pain.”

A spasm in his chest as he had to wrench his gaze away from the rawness of this conversation, clenching his eyes as the tears streamed down the sides of his face, fists balled beneath the blanket in an attempt at control. Each gasp was an agony of physical and mental turmoil, his body unable to keep up with the tremors running through it. She didn’t judge him for this weakness, instead gently brushing her hand through his hair, humming a familiar tune as he tried to wade through the tidal wave of unfamiliar emotions crashing against what he knew about her.

His feelings about Talia al Ghul were complicated, to say the very least. There was anger intertwined with that deep echoing sadness, culminating in a rational fear that told him that she would eventually leave him once his unknown role was finished, that she would up and abandon him just like everyone else in his life had. He’d lashed out to protect himself because he knew how it would always end when he opened himself up to that vulnerability.

Or, at least, he thought he had.

But he couldn’t be blamed for that line of thought, right? His reasonings were…rational because after all, every single authoritative person in his life had lied – using him, betraying him – and that included everyone, which meant his mother, Catherine, as well. He knew she had loved him until her dying breath, that she had done her very best with the unfortunate circumstances they had been dealt with, but ultimately she, too, left him. All the love in the world couldn’t heal what was broken within her, not without time and resources they just didn’t have. Instead, he was left angry and shattered by her broken promises, of the lies said to a child who knew nothing of the real world, having been shielded from the worst of it.

Of course, Crime Alley had quickly brought him up to speed thereafter, forcibly teaching him how to survive the harsh realities of life, because the alternative would’ve seen him six feet under even earlier than being Robin had.

You’re angry at Talia? a new voice hissed. So what? No one’s perfect. You know who she really is and she’s apologizing – she never fucking apologizes.

And emphasis on never.

Jason wouldn’t deny that small part of him still simmering in his years-long anger though, unforgiving at the cruelties he was forced to endure at Talia’s hands in the name of training. Sure, it had been at his request but even so, he had gone on to believe that her desire to aid him was out of a desire for Bruce, as her beloved. He had been used as a stepping stone to further her years-long plan of having the man stand at her side once more.

…But what if she really is just helping you? a third, gentler voice whispered. Cold water poured over the tumultuous thoughts as gentle hands tugged him away from the embers fire of his anger, leading him down a different path of reluctant forgiveness – if, for anything, just the time being. Maybe she really does mean everything she said.

No, everything was too complicated for him to wade through and make a decision on. He would have to file all of this away. He needed time – to heal, to think, to mull over the complicated mess that was his fucked up mind.

He was…

He was just so tired.

He wanted to rest.

The exhaustion of everything, emotional and physical, finally took its toll as his body began to relax under Talia’s familiar touch. Despite wanting to speak to her for a little longer, to understand this unexpected emotional reveal from a typically cold and strict woman, he had no say as sleep hooked its claws into him, dragging his body back to the land of dreams where he was free from the horrors of his reality.

0O0

Jason may have woken up but the worst of things were not behind him. No, it was only ahead as he had now to deal with his battered body, broken beyond what should’ve been humanly possible to ever return from. Talia had been right – his survival was unnatural and most would even call it a miracle.

But they knew the truth; it was only due to that accursed poison running through his veins that kept him from succumbing to his near-fatal injuries.

Thankfully, the streams of doctors and nurses asked no questions outside of what was needed for his treatments, not when they were all under Talia’s watchful eye. Besides, they were obviously League-affiliated – the sheer amount of awe and respect that flooded the room every time Talia walked into one was downright nauseating. He knew hero worship of a figurehead well enough to recognize it.

Regardless, all of the healing his body was now going through was definitely taking its toll. He was sleeping more these past few days than he must have slept this entire year – the exhaustion had clearly caught up and was forcing compensation as his immune system was working in overdrive to repair the damage.

So during his waking hours not in a drugged daze, he’d find himself watching whatever was on TV or messing around with his brand new phone, courtesy of one Talia Head – the name she was currently going by – to make the hours pass by. The woman was suspiciously absent as he was alone most of the time, the silence his ever-constant companion. While it was nice at first, he still had questions that only she could really answer for him.

But despite the growing boredom, he made it his mission to avoid all news, refusing to turn off the do not disturb on the fancy new phone, unwilling to subject himself to the agony his curiosity would reveal. He didn’t need to know what the public perception of Red Hood was now, not when he had already been walking a very fine line with Gotham’s citizens as a Crime Lord known for stuffing several severed heads in a duffel bag – not one of his best decisions, that was for sure.

While no one would be missing the Joker, it was one thing to hear that the clown was dead and another to see someone publically beat the man to death.

“You called for me?”

And speak of the devil.

No matter what room she walked into, Talia commanded everyone’s presence and held the room in a way that Jason had always been impressed by. The nurse who had been readjusting his meds scrambled out of her way, quickly closing the door to the room to give them privacy. The older woman held in one hand a laptop as she walked over, pulling a table around the lone seat beside his hospital bed before settling down.

“You’re finally ready to grace my presence again?” he grumbled, trying to readjust himself to face her better without revealing too much of the pain on his face. “Gonna yell at me some more? Kick a man while he’s down?”

She rolled her eyes at his dramatics, opening the computer. “Unlike some, I have an identity and a job to maintain at LexCorp.” Ew. This time, he didn’t bother hiding his disgust to which she huffed at; it wasn’t like it was his fault Luthor gave him – and pretty much everyone he knew – the creeps.

They soon skipped over pleasantries until there was an air of awkwardness, a strange tension as Jason turned to ask, “The Joker’s really dead?” He went straight to the point, just like he knew she’d be pleased by, not feeling like dancing around the topic.

Talia paused, looking up from her laptop. It was a question he thought a lot about these days, finding the anxiety in him incapable of settling down until he had firm confirmation. While yes, he’d shot the man seven times to the chest and once to the head, he just…needed to be sure, no matter how irrational the fear was. Because they lived in a world where the dead often refused to stay dead – i.e. himself – and even with his brains blown out, if anyone could crawl back from the innermost circle of Hell to escape being chewed on by Satan himself, it would be that fucking clown.

“He’s dead. I even saw the burning of the body, his ashes and bones.”

He blinked, the words ringing in his ears. He didn’t know how long he sat there, watching her, searching for any hint of a lie, but there was only this new hard truth. And when the realization truly hit him, the next breath he let out – it was an exhale of years of terror, a shedding of weight he hadn’t let himself release in the immediate aftermath of the killing. All at once, he was light and free, the shackles of his tormentor loosening their hold on his past until they were slowly sliding off. He could–

He could finally breathe.

Talia’s gaze softened just the slightest. “He will torment you no longer.”

And shit.

Jason had to turn away, closing his eyes as he stuttered through those next several breaths. The tapping of keys resumed as he allowed the news to fully settle over, for the lingering doubts to fully melt away because truthfully, he didn’t know how to feel. There was only an amalgamation of emotions that had influenced so much of who he was now freed by this newfound reality.

But there was one thing he did know for sure: the next deep breath he took was the sweetest air he had ever breathed, free from the rot Joker’s simple existence had tormented him with.

“And Tim?”

She watched him for some time, seemingly thinking of what to say before coming to a conclusion. “The antidote that Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy created did not work on the boy but it became the base for one a few hours after his rescue.” There was a sigh. “I am, however, only aware of what Damian has informed me and even with my capabilities, my knowledge is…limited. I’ve tried to find out more details but for now, certain things are out of my reach. The boy was severely malnourished and injured after being kidnapped for a little over a month and once rescued, he had to be taken to the Watchtower for emergency treatment. The damage done was too extensive for them to deal with here in Gotham – not to mention the issue with identities and how public everything was. But physically, he will heal.”

He waited for her to continue but when she didn’t, his heart fell. “You’re not answering my question.” Jason was shifting around again, unable to stay still and growing agitated by the lack of good news, every slight movement pressed against the staples in his abdomen. “What is it? What’s wrong? What happened?”

“The venom, along with the torture…has done some damage to the boy’s psyche. That was to be expected and came to no one’s surprise, of course. But unfortunately, they’ve had to sedate him several times since he has awakened as a result.”

The shackles slapped themselves onto him once again, the guilty chains rattling the anger in his chest, tightening his lungs until he wanted to scream. He had been too late. Fuck, fuck fuck fuck. He wanted to punch something, wanted to scream and shout at how unfair this all was, he hated how he was always too fucking late–

“Calm yourself. None of this was your fault, as Timothy is alive thanks to your actions. You have done the boy a service by killing that clown as I’ve been told that it was one of his main triggers. He fears the Joker’s return to, and I quote, finish the job, only settling once someone informs him of the clown’s death.” A sick satisfaction twisted Talia’s smile, a strange hint of pride hidden behind that sardonic smile. “In fact, I’ve heard that even Bruce has been forced to reaffirm Joker’s death for the boy several times.”

“But if I had just–”

“Jason.” He shut his mouth. “There is no point in lingering in the past. What’s done is done – and you, of all people, should know that it will lead to nothing but torment. All that matters now is that the clown will not haunt him, do you understand?”

Her unspoken words, the hidden meaning beneath it all: unlike him, Tim would never have to agonize over the Joker’s very existence, the daunting weight of the clown’s craziness looming over his shoulder, waiting for that inevitable Arkham breakout to be his last. Tim would never have to fear the day that the clown would turn his sights onto him again for a horrid repeat of torture – he’d be free in a way Jason hadn’t been and that should’ve made all the difference.

So while he wanted to argue, felt that anger bubbling hotly in his chest, he heeded her warning and kept his mouth shut. It didn’t matter whether or not she would try to lessen the blow of her words by sprinkling some semblance of truth into it because at the end of the day, he knew the truth of the matter – ultimately, amid the successes was a failure. For all of her attempts at reassuring him, he knew he had been too late to save Tim from the consequences of that night, of the brutal scars that had been left behind and imprinted on their souls. Jason had wanted to spare him from that pain because he knew firsthand how that shit felt.

But who was he kidding? Even two nights with Joker and Punchline had–

Wait.

Punchline.

Shit, he’d forgotten about her.

“What about Punchline?” He last recalled slamming her neck into the concrete ground, of that resounding crack that, at the time, he had falsely assumed was her arm.

“That charlatan?” Talia scoffed. “She’s of no concern of yours, particularly seeing how she’s now dead.” Jason stilled, eyes widening – he’d killed her too? “Tch – before you jump to conclusions that I can already see you doing, no, you did not kill her. We have Harley Quinn to thank for that.”

A brow raised in shock. “…Harley?”

“She broke into Punchline’s hospital room and, well, I imagine you can visualize the actions taken from there without further descriptions. Regardless, that woman is now dead and the world is better for it.” Talia’s face twisted in disgust. “Good riddance.”

Jason could only blink a few times from the several turn of events before throwing his head back into the pillow in defeat, clenching his eyes shut with a groan.

Fine, whatever, that was new information he hadn’t been expecting. He never would’ve thought that relying on the former psychologist would’ve inadvertently led to Punchline’s death. Of course, he could have given less of a shit about Punchline dying and washed his hands of her, and similarly to Talia, his thoughts were only three simple words: good fucking riddance. The woman was insane and had done horrendously psychotic things to Tim – and him, by extension. It didn’t take a genius to know that Punchline, whoever the hell she was, most likely had a ledger rivaling that of the Joker in its cruelties.

He absentmindedly stared at the blurry figure being reflected by the black screen of the television, suddenly remarking just how strange all of this was; Talia, sitting beside him as though it were the most normal thing in the world for her to be, as he lay alive, just awaiting judgment day. Their conversation stalled, as he was unsure of what else to say and Talia continued whatever she was doing on that laptop of hers. For a while, he allowed himself to drift off as much as he could, the drugs definitely aiding him as they softened the edges of the world just enough that he wasn’t scrambling away from the horrors.

It was then he realized that while Talia’s attempts to reassure him were in good faith, the realization that Bruce was probably going to twist Punchline’s death into somehow being his fault was another dreadful thing he didn’t even want to think about right now. The man was only going to add this death to the other tally marks of bodies that he accused Jason of leaving behind.

He turned his attention to the large windows, almost as if it would help him escape the annoyance brewing beneath his broken ribs. It gave him slight access into the heart of Gotham’s downtown but being so high up in what he could only assume was the penthouse of whatever highrise they were in – seeing as there was no upstairs neighbor behavior happening – there were only so many fucking pigeons he could watch before it grew mind-numbingly boring.

“Hey Talia?” A pause in her typing as she spared him a quick glance. “Where exactly are we? I know we’re in Gotham and I’ve gotta say, questionable choice on that–”

“I find it an accomplishment to hide Bruce’s wayward son right beneath his nose. For all of his strengths, the man’s stubbornness and inability to see past his moral grounds will be his ruin one day.” She huffed. “While he may be on a rampage in search of you, he will not find you here.”

“And…?”

“And that is because this is not a hospital but a private residence, Jason, bought by a name with absolutely no ties to me nor my several identities.” Eyebrows shot up at that. He took another look around – the room itself was fancy as hell and way out of his price range, but it looked like a hospital room nonetheless. Just…nicer. “The staff are all handpicked and loyal to me, of course.”

“You really expect me to believe Bruce doesn’t know you’re in the city?” The look she shot him was downright withering. He rolled his eyes. “C’mon, don’t look at me like that – I’m just asking.”

“Don’t be daft, of course Bruce is aware I’m in Gotham. If the presence of the League didn’t tip him off after the disaster that was the Arkham breakout, then Damian’s phone call to me would have. Besides, I haven’t hidden my presence nor my distaste for his actions regarding the Joker.” She returned to her computer. “However, he does not know my exact location and I’ve instructed my son to stay away as a precaution. I know it’s not ideal for you and I to be in this city, and I would prefer us to be anywhere else, but you couldn’t be moved.” A sudden pause. “Though, arrangements can be made now as you’ve stabilized enough for transport. It certainly won’t be easy but I do like a challenge.”

The conversation stuttered out from there and after some more time, the drugs kicked in fully as he grew tired and weighed down. Before he knew it, the regular tapping of the keyboard lulled him to sleep as he was dragged under once more, a quiet voice finally admitting that maybe Talia’s presence was more of a comfort than he realized.

0O0

By the end of the fourth week, Jason was beginning to wean off the painkillers. As tempting as it was to rely on that daze the drugs provided him with, he’d rather deal with the discomfort and pain than fall back onto them as a crutch, a mixture of his dislike for the medicine and a desire to gauge where he stood physically backing the decision. He was significantly weaker than he liked, knowing that the healing and planned physical therapy Talia had brought up was going to wreak havoc on his withering muscles. He hated PT but knew it was necessary. It did little to change the fact it always fucking hurt.

“Thanks,” he mumbled to the nurse helping him sit up, grimacing that even that slight movement pulled at his abdomen. The now-closed wound still hurt like a motherfucker, the deep soreness in his muscles a constant companion these days as it healed. He pushed back wet hair strands as he rearranged himself atop the bed, the nurse rearranging the blankets. Although it hadn't been his first shower, they were still few and far between as there wasn’t much he could do on his own. The most he was currently capable of was transferring between the bed and wheelchair due to the nature of the several broken bones in his legs and arm. Thankfully, due to his accelerated healing factor, many of the fractures across his body were nearly healed.

While yes, he was still heavily injured with the worst of it being the stab wound, otherwise, he was moving around with considerably less pain than just a week ago. Still required help to do the basic necessities of the human body but at the end of the day, he knew he was lucky. Much of the resentment of surviving this ordeal had faded away, leaving behind a reluctant acceptance of his situation. Eventually, the most permanent damage to come out of this would be the nasty scarring – and, of course, the chronic pain from said injuries piling onto the long list of others.

The only thing that he hated was that it was going to take him a while to return his body to the same condition it was before all this shit went down. It was truly disheartening how…useless he felt. So used to being up and moving, just doing something, these last few weeks on bedrest made him feel so lost.

But for now, while all he could do was lay there, he’d be glad that the worst of it was behind him.

The television was playing in the background and Jason came out of his thoughts when he heard Breaking News and Bruce Wayne together in one sentence. With a sneer, he quickly reached for the remote and shut it off with more anger than warranted – but not before Talia walked into the room, eyebrow quirked with that uncanny timing of hers.

Ah, yes, his only visitor.

It was starting to feel a little sad.

“Not interested in hearing what the esteemed Bruce Wayne is doing in his endeavors after Joker?”

“It’s probably some bullshit reform for Arkham,” he grumbled. “It’s the same pointless shit he does every single time there’s a breakout.”

She handed him a cup of coffee from a local chain that he reluctantly took – it was decaf, unfortunately – as she gracefully sat down, crossing her legs as she nursed her own cappuccino. He watched with jealousy at the caffeinated drink, looking back at his with disdain.

“And you’d be correct, of course. He’s donated about twenty-five million to enhance security for Arkham whilst donating another twenty-five for those displaced by the last breakout.” He attempted to tamper down the burst of intense anger, wrangling his emotions away from burning in it. “A satisfyingly even fifty million.”

He stiffened at the number, knowing that for a man like Bruce, fifty million was pocket change. No matter how many years passed and his own proximity to money fluctuated, hearing a number like that would always be nauseating. Money of that degree was life-changing for the common person – and knowing that for Bruce and all his charities, it was just…slapped on as a bandaid to the issue that was Arkham, Jason didn’t really know how to feel about that.

“Yeah and the news is gonna eat that shit up like they always do.” He sneered. “Fucking stupid.”

“Speaking of, are you still refusing to see the news coverage regarding you?”

This shit again.

Although a recent development, no matter many times he would shoot this topic down into the ground six feet under, Talia had managed to bring up the media’s coverage of Red Hood into their daily conversations – it was beginning to seriously piss him off to the nth degree.

“And I’m going to tell you the same thing I’ve been said every single fucking time – yes. I don’t care–”

It seemed as though today was the day that Talia’s patience regarding the topic had reached its limits as she brushed passed his warning without care. “Gotham Gazette has been covering the several parties and parades that have been taking place throughout the city in the aftermath of Joker’s death. NBC Gotham and GNN have been reporting that residents of your beloved Crime Alley are shunning the Bats on numerous occasions in the wake of your disappearance. Four weeks, Jason, and I have yet to see any of the criticism you repeatedly mention regarding Red Hood’s role in all of this.” She paused and he knew, he just knew she was going to say something that was going to monumentally piss him off. “When will this ridiculous one-man pity party of yours end?”

And he had guessed right because that annoyance? Shot straight fury into his veins through his IV, jumpstarting the anger rushing through him. “Pity party–”

She motioned to the entirety of him, stupid cappuccino in hand. “As if that’s not what this is–”

“I just didn’t want to know, alright? I don’t have the best track record with the media after the whole crime lord thing and I didn’t need to see the shit I thought they’d be saying about me when my biggest concern was whether or not I was going to die,” he shot back. “So sorry for taking some precautions.”

The look she was glaring at him with would’ve leveled anyone else – but he had grown a thick skin, knew how to counter Talia’s special brand of annoyance with his own. “Don’t be ridiculous, even the most brain-dead Gotham citizen would understand the significance Joker’s death has and how it came to be. They’re calling you a hero.”

He whipped around, eyes narrowing. “Don’t.”

“What? Call you a hero?”

“Talia,” he hissed, voice tight, “I said don’t.”

Yet, as he watched the emotional mask stay firm upon her face, his own was crumbling into ash, the emotions running through him so unstable that he was certain he was about to crash. The intensity with which they raged within him, the familiar hair-trigger switches that nearly anything could set off – his concern over all of this managed to break that sudden cast of high emotions that had him so…jittery.

So with a deep breath, he loosened his grip on the paper cup of coffee to avoid it breaking and spilling all over him. He took a few deep breaths and seconds to himself, calming himself down from the edge of the cliff. Finally, rational thought had the reigns of this conversation as the concern over the swings in his emotions now settled in full swing. He had initially written off these severe moments of intense rage and frustration as a result of the pain and confinement to the room, but the short fuse these days was abnormal.

He knew something wasn’t right, that something was very wrong.

“You know,” he began after forcing a sip of the mediocre coffee, visibly much calmer than he was when their conversation first started, “I thought after Joker, I’d feel…calmer.” Although he had switched the topic, he still opted to tread carefully, hoping Talia would understand what he was implying – and without a moment of hesitation, her hardened eyes flew to his.

“The Lazarus?”

After an agonizing second, he nodded his head. While every part of him rebelled at revealing such a weakness, he pushed through the reluctance, knowing if anyone could help him with this, it would be her. The fact that his paranoia had gotten as loud as it did was a sign that something wasn’t right.

But Jason knew no matter what anyone would say, that infamous anger was intrinsically him – ever since he was a kid he had always burned quickly, fury rushing through him as fast as the adrenaline did. But he had also known that after his dip into the Lazarus, that toxic pit had doused this familiar anger in barrels and barrels of gasoline – and then some – as it raged through him in ways he despised. Sure, it had been comforting in those moments of losing himself, but when he looked back at his fast rise through the criminal underground, it now made him sick. The things he did, the actions he had justified in the moment; he had allowed something that had once been so familiar to become…twisted, something he now hated. It was unrecognizable when all he wanted was to return to familiarity.

“Jason?”

Shit, he hadn’t meant to go quiet. He turned his attention back to her. “Sorry, just thinking. I just thought since, you know, I shot him that…” He didn’t know what to say – how to say it. Almost as if his tongue was heavy and suddenly a useless muscle, the words escaped him as his side of the conversation trailed into silence, discomfort obvious to the world if it looked in.

“The corruption of the pit, it certainly affects those under its influence differently. Despite Bruce’s strong beliefs, you were far from the worst I have witnessed. But regardless, we’re both aware of how it twists your thoughts, your feelings against those you believed to have wronged you.” She waited until he nodded. “Then you know how it can linger even when its demands are answered.” Her stare lingered, her true thoughts hidden from him. “Is that what you’re asking about?”

“I…” Much of his anger had been focused on Joker, there could be no denying that. “I just– after killing Joker, I hoped I wouldn’t feel so much…of it,” he quietly admitted.

While he was successful in pushing back against that toxic voice, able to keep it buried beneath layers and layers of meticulous self-control that had taken years to build up, he was beginning to hear that familiar echo of it in his thoughts, see firsthand just how quick he was to turn to his anger. He had foolishly hoped that with that last kill the poison in him would finally disappear, that the voice would be satisfied by this last death. Instead, he felt as if–

As if it were growing in strength, pushing back against its chains.

“It stays with you. Even if you give into the demands, fulfilling its commands with violence after violence, death after death, it will remain.” There was silence, Talia mulling over her next words. “I understand that for you, it was a desire to kill the Joker and seek retribution for the pain and death he had caused, for the future he had ripped away from you, but now that you’ve satisfied its lust for revenge it still calls for more.” That’s exactly what he feared because– “Did you believe that killing Joker would lessen its demands?”

“I just hoped”—his heart was beginning to pound, reflected by the heart monitor hooked up to him—“that I’d be free from it. At least, one day.” She quietly took the coffee from his shaking hands – which he hadn’t even noticed – to set it aside. He couldn’t look back up, instead staring at the several new scars freshly puckered pink.

“You will live with it for the rest of your life, Jason,” she said, breaking the news as gently as a woman like her could. But it was news he had been in denial of despite the long years since his revival, news that had unfortunately brought a wave of fresh agony through him.

He was able to keep the tears at bay this time, though, unwilling to shed more than he already had before her. They were meant for him only, for him to mourn a life he had hoped one day could have been his – and unfortunately, it would never happen. Forever shackled to this violent side of him that he despised, a side of him that he could no longer truly deny, a side reborn from his rage. Twisting what was once him into the green haze that encroached on his very existence.

“I see this isn’t the news you had hoped to hear.”

“Of course it’s not,” he shot back, “you think I want to feel this…this growing anger in me constantly? I was so fucking stupid–”

“Jason–”

“I’m such an idiot for thinking that I could be normal–”

“Have you not kept it at bay for the last few years?”

Eyes flew up, meeting hers. “…Well, yeah–”

“Then with time, the Pit will be silenced, drowned by the thoughts uncontrolled by its deception and free from its taint. One day, that voice will be so inconsequential to your life that at times, you will have even forgotten about it.” Her penetrating gaze leveled him with a simple look. “It may seem impossible now but I know you’re strong enough to resist its temptation; you’ve done so for two long years and shall continue doing so for the ones to come.”

He couldn’t help the warmth her words washed over him with, soothing his temper back; it was rare these days to hear praise directed at him, and to know that there was at least one person who he might be able to rely on was a shock to his system. She believed in him when no one else did.

It was…nice.

“Thanks, I guess,” he mumbled, his cheeks now burning.

Talia huffed like she always did, halfheartedly returning her attention to the coffee. “I speak only the truth.”

“Yeah, well tell that to everyone and they’ll make a liar out of you.” He sighed. “And speaking of–”

“Must we ruin the mood?”

“–you haven’t told me what happened after Damian called you.” Jason redirected his full attention to her once more. “Alfred was there, I know he was. He wouldn’t have just…let you take me, not with Bruce involved with all this shit.”

A finger tapped the paper coffee cup. “Then you would be wrong again. While he is loyal to Bruce like a parent to a child, he is also fiercely loyal to you, whether you believe it or not.” She rubbed her brow. “Unlike some, he would not allow his personal beliefs to override what was at stake, and even he was unsure of what Bruce would’ve done in the moment – that much, he admitted to me.” Talia looked out the window. “I’m not sure if you remember those last moments but whatever you said scared the man. He did not put up a fight when I arrived, demanding only that I save you and prioritize your safety.”

Jason’s head fell back, lips thin. “My memories are pretty…hazy and I barely remember half the things I did, let alone said. I was seeing all sorts of shit – it’d be too hard to try and figure it out.”

“Well, what’s done is done.”

And wasn’t that the truth.

“Not to, uh, venture into uncomfortable territory here but I’m not hearing a My Beloved anymore.”

“It seems as though today is the day for uncomfortable topics, I see.” Her perfectly manicured finger stopped its tapping as she glared unamusingly. “Well, of course you won’t,” she said, as if it was the most normal thing to have happened. But he watched her eyes fall to his neck as a sudden prickling crawled up his spine, a paranoia that said she knew, that the scar– “After all, a man who would slit his own son’s throat is no longer worthy to stand by my side. I even question whether or not leaving Damian in the care of his father is the right thing to do.”

Immediately, Jason’s blood went cold. He knew how to keep his emotions inward no matter how shocking the information was, how to keep himself from revealing to others the turmoil that wreaked havoc in his brain – but with her accusation mixed with the insanity of the last few weeks, he couldn’t help that the mask slipped for but a brief second. He quickly covered up the shock with a cool indifference but for a woman like Talia, that one second was all she needed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“There’s no point in lying. I recognize the kind of scar a Batarang leaves behind.”

Jason, unable to face Talia’s stare, turned away. He looked out the floor-to-ceiling window again, refusing to meet her gaze as he kept silent. He couldn’t face the judgment he knew he’d see.

Should he deny her claim? But if he did, he’d simply be protecting the man from the truth of his actions, regardless of whether or not Bruce was even aware of it. So who would he really be protecting here? A man hellbent on sending him away for killing a psychopath who would have murdered another Robin – another innocent kid?

Damn it, Talia was right, like she always fucking was. He’d never be able to lie his way through a plausible scenario, not to her, anyway. Sure, he was an excellent liar when the time called for it, but she was an even better one, always knowing someone’s tell before they even knew. He’d never be able to deny the truth, not when even thinking about the goddamn scar was cutting into a deep wound that had yet to heal.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

It was safer that way.

“Jason–”

“What part of I don’t want to talk about it didn’t you hear?”

A disappointed sigh. “Look at me.” He refused. “Does he know?” He kept to his silence, unable to answer such a simple question. “I know Bruce, Jason, in a manner that you will never know. When I first met the man, he had been angry and violent, not unlike you, unable to understand the common person.”

The comparison burned him as he whipped around, snarling, “Don’t fucking do that; I’m nothing like him.” She just raised a stupidly perfect brow, a cue for him to tone it down, to reign in his anger, but little did she know that none of it was the Pit but rather him. But just for her, he put out that short fuse, willing to hold back his anger for now to hear her out. “Besides, he still can’t,” he ended up grumbling, turning away. “The man is inept.”

“But much to my surprise, he has somehow managed to inspire hope in the city, though, has he not?” Another one of her sighs. “Will you– Jason, I refuse to have this conversation with the back of your head.” Their stubbornness clashed and unfortunately, he knew when he was outclassed. After some time, he had no choice but to wave the metaphorical white flag, childishly looking back at her. Some of that hardness to Talia had been put aside as she studied him, her eyes remaining strictly on his face and never once drifting down to the brutal mess of a scar that was carved into his throat. “Bruce is…a complicated man.” Yeah, no fucking shit. “And he’s failed as a father in more ways than not, particularly if we were to weight judgement by his treatment of you.”

Beneath the blanket, Jason's fingers on his right hand were digging grooves into his palm with how tightly they were clenched. “And what’s this got to do with me? I told you I don’t want to talk about it–”

“I want you to understand that he is a man riddled by fear; fear of loss, fear of death – not of his own but of his parents, of his loved ones that, despite this fear, he cannot help but surround himself with. It’s that fear of loss that ultimately rules his judgment and whether he recognizes it or not, it does paralyze him. Unfortunately, it prevents him from making the right decisions at times, too clouded by the fear. Do not take these words as me justifying his actions, though, as I find them abhorrent and reprehensible. ”

“If we’re going to do some weird character study of Bruce, count me out ‘cause it's the last fucking thing I want to do right now.” Or ever, really.

“Language.” Regardless, we both are aware of my disagreement with his methodologies. But”—she stood up, putting her coffee aside—“I have come to terms with the man behind this no-kill rule, and at the end of the day, I have to realize that he’s extremely flawed because he’s human.” She sat on the edge of the mattress, her back facing him. “So I ask again – does he know?”

Jason took a second, debating whether he truly wanted to go down this path with her. “...I don’t know,” he finally said, his voice breaking against his control. “I–” He clenched his eyes shut, trying to breathe through the rise of panic in his chest. “I don’t know.”

With that uncanny ability of hers, it was almost as if she knew to not look at him, that he needed that barrier between them as the memories slowly began to resurface from that night. Of the horror and terror he felt, the Joker pointed at the end of a gun as he waited, baited his time, hoping that he’d be able to even think of the words to say but–

He just–

The pain, the explosion of all things, an irreparable wound–

He took a stuttering breath.

Finally, Talia turned her head. Whatever she saw on his face was enough for her own to soften as she fully shuffled around, facing him. She grabbed a hand and held it in her own and for once, she seemed as though she were at a loss for words. Whether or not she truly was, he wouldn’t ever know, as the silence rang between them, blanketing the room in a strange tension so thick it was downright suffocating. He didn’t like the familiarity of this interaction, how comforted he was by her presence. He was nearly smothered by the deja vu blanketing him, forcing him to recall the blurriness of a time forever lost to him.

Then Talia’s phone suddenly rang out, breaking the weirdness in the air. While she attempted to ignore it, after a few more rings and several buzzes it became too insistent and she was forced to take the call. Letting go of his hand, she looked at the caller with a frown, stepping out of the room without a word. He didn’t know how to feel but the interruption but it leaned heavily into relief, knowing that this conversation was effectively over and they wouldn’t have to speak on it anymore She only returned after enough time had passed that Jason thought she’d left entirety – and he wouldn’t have blamed her if she had.

“Unfortunately, that was Luthor. I’m to be in Metropolis tonight for an emergency meeting with an international client. I shall be back sometime tomorrow evening.”

“You sound so happy.” He snarked, her annoyance bouncing off of him. “I guess I’ll have to make do with the wonderful nurse Anne and the stories of her niece over your wonderful company.” She huffed, exasperated by the joke and his overall presence, before stopping right beside him.

He watched her, an intense war of emotions over his feelings about the woman still clashing against each other. Maybe she knew or maybe she didn’t, but it didn’t matter because that was shit he had to work out on his own – his body healing took priority over everything else, particularly seeing that he didn’t want to be influenced by anything while he made his mind up about Talia.

So as her emotionless mask stared down at him, just…watching, he felt a wave of confusion wash over him. “Is everything okay?” he hesitated to ask.

“...Yes.” She decided with a sigh before proceeding to raise a hand to him. He didn’t pull back as with a graze of her fingers, she brushed his jaw and chin, her face softening for the briefest second to reveal the woman beneath the cold exterior, sending a wave of panic through him. “Just…stay safe, Jason, and think about what I said.”

And then as if nothing happened, she whirled around and walked out of the room, leaving him behind with whiplash as he remained sat, frozen and uncomfortable from the entirety of their strange interaction today.

0O0

Today was not a Good Day.

He couldn’t…he couldn’t move. His body hurt, lungs aching with every breath he choked through. He stayed in bed, curtains closed in the dark because it was nice, cool, it was safe. He had kicked off the blankets in his sleep hours ago because it was just too heavy; he was suffocating beneath them, he couldn’t–

The door creaked open.

He whimpered.

“–are you?”

It was the Woman’s voice. The mattress dipped beside him as she sat down, blocking out even more of the muted light from his face. He couldn’t move, the heaviness in his bones chaining him to his bed until he was anchored down, frozen in a sea of indescribable agony. A pause, the darkness crashing over him as he felt like he was drowning, flailing under the weight of himself with his lungs paralyzed, when, a gentle touch upon his brow. He flinched at the warm touch, whimpering in fear, digging himself deeper into the bed and pillow because he–

“It’s alright, my child,” the Woman whispered, somehow knowing that even the slightest sound was an explosion of agony. “It’ll be okay.”

She began to brush a hand through his hair, humming a tune as her fingers gently massaged the pain away. Even when she got caught in the tangles, she never pulled on them, would work through them slowly, pausing whenever he needed a moment. His body slowly relaxed under her voice, the tightness melting away with every passing second.

Seconds, minutes, hours could’ve passed, and he’d never know; the fractured remains of his memory always made it hard to know how much time had gone by, things blurring into one. Sometimes, he couldn’t even remember who the Woman was, aware of one second and unaware the next. Those were the Really Bad Days. Today might’ve been a Bad Day but he still knew who the Woman was, who the Boy was, so he latched onto those memories will all of his might.

Without realizing it, he was drifting off, the Woman’s familiar tune following him as he was finally relieved of the turmoil that held him hostage. Her voice led him down to softer meadows, of a time much simpler and gentler. He’d watch an orange-breasted bird soaring through the air, small and free and alive, and he’d close his eyes to bask under the fresh spring sun, a mother’s warmth enveloping him in safety.

0O0

Jason’s eyes fluttered open.

The moonless night meant a darkened room, only the faint lights from the city shining in through the window. He didn’t bother holding back the yawn as he tried to settle back into the warmth of his bed, of the comforting weight of sleep when a prickling of unease suddenly swept over him.

Even half asleep, he knew what it felt like to be watched.

Jason waited a few seconds, bidding his time, but that itching feeling neither lessened nor worsened no matter how long the minutes passed in the now oppressing darkness. His heart began to pound to the rush in his ears as he was internally begging that the person watching him in the dark wasn’t who he thought it was.

Because Talia had promised him that this location was secure, that there wouldn’t be a way for him to be discovered here. He was supposed to have been safe.

There was a sudden shuffling, purposeful in its action, confirming to Jason all he needed to know – the person wanted him to know he was there.

Fuck.

Fuck.

He knew there was a panic button on the side of the hospital bed, something Talia had mentioned to him in case of emergencies – but she was in fucking Metropolis. There wasn’t much she could do a whole state over, not when it’d take her at the very least a little over an hour to get here. He didn’t even bother hoping for whatever guards she might’ve set up, knowing that if this person had gotten in there was no way anybody was coming.

So despite the voice screaming at him that this was a bad idea, he had no other choice but to reopen his eyes, to turn to the man who had haunted him for all these years, fear and anger blending into one chaotic emotion that felt bigger than life – that was bigger than life.

“Jason.”

Because Batman stood in the corner of the room, cowl hiding Bruce’s face, as Jason lay broken in a hospital bed, unable to run, to hide, trapped by his injuries and at the mercy of a man hellbent on making sure he paid for his crimes.

“…Bruce.”

Just two men, a parent and his child and a shattered relationship between them all.