Chapter Text
The black cape flattered to Jason’s right as he was reloading. Heavy steps echoed in the warehouse, the sound tense and ready to snap. For once, Batman wasn’t trying to be quiet.
There were six bodies on the floor. Multiple bullet wounds, a couple of broken and separated limbs — nothing that hadn’t happened before, when Jason met sex traffickers.
He stepped to the wall, away from a growing puddle of blood in the middle of the warehouse. Everything was still hazy green, covered in a layer of toxin sheen that he learned to live with over the years.
Sometimes, the Pit gave him a strange, drunk sense of euphoria. Right now, though, it felt more like waking up after a midday nap, cold and slightly disorienting. It took him a second to focus his eyes on the dark shadow, looming over his shoulder.
“What is this, Hood?” Batman growled, stepping closer until they were just a few feet away from each other. “You agreed to no killing rule for today.”
Yeah, he did. In retrospect, not his brightest decision.
It had been over a month since he returned Tim to Gotham. A month since he'd called Bruce and told him, like a fucking idiot, that he would stay in touch. A month since Bruce had promised to try his best.
But the night turned into a disaster in a matter of seconds and when the push came to shove, well. There wasn't a problem that couldn't be solved with firearms.
“Changed my mind.” He put the guns back into the holsters. They'd already had a fight just a few days ago, on their first joined patrol, and he was too tired for another one.
Such a waste of time.
Under the cowl, Batman looked disappointed. “Hood,” he growled again, somehow managing to sound exasperated under the gravel of his voice. “I told you already, I want to work with you. Others want to work with you. But if you continue at this rate, I’ll have to—”
“Have to what?” He couldn’t help but ask.
You can't even keep the city safe by yourself. So, go on. Tell me you’ll start treating me like a criminal again, once you grow tired of playing family. Once you realize I’m not the one you miss.
Batman didn’t answer. He didn’t have to, not when everything was written in the way his body tensed ever so slightly, in preparation for a fight. Jason was so fucking tired of it.
The blood splashed under his boots. He didn't turn around.
***
Two months later, Joker escaped from Arkham. He murdered twenty people in a hospital with one explosion and was caught in the middle of the day in record time, while Jason was asleep after patrol.
He woke up to the voice of a news reporter listing the names of the victims. Through the TV screen, he watched his killer smile to the judge as his crimes were read out loud. He watched the prosecutor argue that putting Joker behind bars again would be too great of a risk and that the death penalty would be the most humane solution.
He watched Joker's lawyers — expensive ones — talk, and talk, and talk about his mental health issues, and the importance of compassion in American society, and other things that escaped Jason's attention.
He watched Joker's smile widen as he was put back into Arkham.
The phone burned in his hand as he dialed the number, and his lungs were full of cigarette smoke when the call connected.
"Jason?" Bruce asked, voice slightly halting. "Are you alright? You haven't been answering your phone."
"How much?"
There was a half-second silence on the other side, then flat "What?"
"How much did those lawyers cost?" He took a long drag, giving Bruce some time to think it through. "Joker had no way to hire them. You did."
He expected a lie. A confident I didn't do it, that, maybe, would even make him feel better for a few hours. Would let him pretend that it was the truth, so he could stop trying not to think at all.
"Six thousand dollars per hour." Bruce didn't hesitate.
He let the answer sink in. Then took a gulp out the bottle and let the alcohol sink in too.
"Naturally."
"I did what I had to." He barely even sounded apologetic. "They were pushing for a death penalty this time."
"I wonder why."
His words slurred. He tried to move his hands, his fingers, but couldn't. Everything was dull, and grayish green, and so fucking disgusting.
Joker was still alive. Joker was still alive because of Bruce. How many times had it happened before, while Jason was dead in all the ways that mattered?
He listened to almost inaudible breaths through the shitty dynamic of his burner phone and took another sip from the bottle.
"Jason."
He let him speak.
"Jay, are you there?"
It was nice to hear the slight panic with which Bruce talked now. He considered not answering at all just to hear more of it.
"Are you drinking?"
"Shut up," he drawled, the Crime Alley accent slipping off his tongue easily. "You fucking disgust me." He laughed, because that was an objectively funny thing to say.
"Jay-lad." The old nickname that he was starting to hate with passion. "I know how it looks like, but I swear, I did it for you."
Something in his chest constricted before he could convince himself that it was a simple manipulation.
"What do you mean?"
"If they allow the death penalty for one Rogue, it wouldn't be hard to push it for the others as well. The floodgate would be opened."
"Don't see a problem there."
"Jay," Bruce sighed deeply. "The court states you as a Rogue. If you ever get caught — not by me, because I would never—"
The bottle in his hand clanked, connecting with the table. Through the smoke, it was hard to see. "Since when?"
"...Jay."
"Stop saying my name and answer the fucking question!"
He breathed. Pushed the air through his teeth. He didn't mean to be so loud — someone might've heard him on the streets.
"Since you've claimed the Crime Alley," Bruce's voice was tired, but precise.
Holy shit. Jason took the last drag from a cigarette and put it out. Holy shit. He was officially a Rogue. He could be judged the same way as Joker had been.
It didn't matter. He knew he wasn't the same, and if someone disagreed, that was their problem. Still, it stung a bit.
"Is this the only reason?" he asked, because he had to know. "You don't want me to die, that's it?"
"I'm—" the static cracked, then disappeared, leaving pressing silence on the line. Jason took another sip. "No, it's not the only reason."
Of course. Of course, Bruce would never kill Joker. He also wouldn't let the law kill Joker. That was nice to know.
"Okay," Jason chuckled. "Okay, I get it."
His knuckles were white around the bottle. His safehouse was full of smoke. Bruce was somewhere far away, not letting anyone touch the homicidal psychopath who took Jason's family from him.
"If you let me visit," Bruce talked, "Or if you want to visit home, we could have a conversation."
Jason shut his eyes and let himself imagine it. I want to come home would be easy enough to say on another day, but home as an idea recently ringed too hollow.
"Nope," his cheeks were wet, but he didn't let his voice quiver. "Try to come close to me and I swear to fucking God, B, I'll... I'll do something for you to regret."
He didn't wait for an answer before ending the call.
***
A week passed by. Bruce didn't call him. Tim did call him once, but Jason wasn't in the mood, so it ended up in another quarrel.
After that, no one interrupted his patrols, nor his operations. The business ran smoothly, like a well-oiled machine.
It was past 4 AM. The city had gotten uncharacteristically quiet, in a way that usually meant trouble. Jason finished another lap around Crime Alley and thought about starting another one when his legs shook under him.
He hadn't gotten much sleep for the last few days. He fucking tried, but every time his head hit the pillow, his mind started to race though all the things he wanted to tell Bruce. It was mostly insults, of course, but... also some questions. Questions that Bruce would never answer directly anyway.
A couple of times in the last week, when Jason thought about it too much, his vision went toxic green and he couldn't ignore the sharp need to go back outside and shoot a random thug in the face.
He'd done it eight hours ago when he was supposed to be in bed. Now, he was tired. The rooftops swam before his eyes as he took a heavy step forward and almost stumbled.
The helmet was starting to feel like an obstacle on the way of fresh air — not that there was a lot of fresh air in Gotham anyway. He knew from experience that another lap would make the sensation worse, and he didn't want to deal with that tonight.
The moment he turned to his safehouse, an explosion shook the ground.
A wave of adrenaline travelled to his fingers as he changed his direction and sprinted to the source of the sound. It was just a few blocks away.
There was static in his right ear — a comm that had been quiet for the last week came to life.
"Hood?" Oracle's voice carried over the sound of his footsteps. "My cameras didn't catch the cause of the explosion. This might be dangerous. Batman is nearby—"
"Tell him to stay away," he growled. Crime Alley was his.
Down at the street level a group of homeless was running away. They knew the locations of the closest safe places better than Jason did, so he let them be.
When he lifted his eyes, his body froze. A pillar of smoke was rising up into the black sky, its mass moving fast and never ending. The sight was sickeningly familiar.
He had to force himself to look down at the source. The explosion created a wide gap in the south side of an abandoned apartment complex — legally abandoned. People still lived there.
There was no time to think. A ringing scream cut the air, and Jason ran to the edge of the roof, jumping right into the hole at the very last moment.
The landing turned rough. He didn't notice the jagged pieces of pipes until his body connected with them. The armor softened the impact, but the pain still stole the air from his lungs. That would be a cracked rib.
He rose slowly, stepping through the broken glass and crushed concrete, one hand on a gun, another on a spare respiratory mask.
"Is anyone here? I'll get you out!" he shouted and hoped that no one was nearby.
The place was burning hot. The open fire had to be somewhere on lower floors. Thick smoke covered the ceiling and seeped through the destroyed wall, one wave replaced by another.
Jason moved forward and forced himself to breathe normally. His mask had good filters. It could withstand worse than that. He knew it could.
A distant doorway led into another flat. "Hey?! I'm he—" Smoke covered his vision. His chest spasmed in a violent coughing fit. He bent down and swallowed thick saliva, wheezing through his next inhale.
It was hard to breathe. Maybe, he should've checked the filters before jumping in.
Or, maybe, the filters were fine and he was just imagining things.
"Help!" a broken voice shrieked somewhere ahead. Jason moved forward without thinking.
One foot in front of the other. He couldn't see anything, but there was someone who needed help, so he moved anyway.
"Where are you?!"
There was no answer.
He could taste the smoke on his tongue. He could feel it in his lungs. He might be imagining—
He was trapped. Tons of concrete above kept him pinned down, squeezing his chest. He felt fire under his skin and watched the smoke crawl to him, slowly filling up his pocket of air. Someone called his name from above, but he couldn't answer.
"Is— ... any—" he coughed. "Here—"
He was going to die. He was going to die. He was going to die.
"Yes, pumpkin. Long time no see."
His vision closed around him. Somewhere far away, Arkham breakout sirens woke up the rest of the city.
***
"I'm getting tired of waiting, pumpkin."
He didn't feel his body. There was humming in his ears, a sound of a thousand bees boring into his skull. He tried to shake his head, but the noise only got worse.
Ice cold water ran down his face, stealing his breath away. He flinched and opened his eyes. Everything was gray and grainy, but through the filter he saw a tall, thin figure looming above.
The face got closer until he could discern white skin and red lips stretched in a smile. He stopped breathing.
"Now, much better," it said and smiled wider.
This couldn't be happening.
This couldn't be— Joker was supposed to be in Arkham. Even if he escaped again, there should've been warnings around the city. How? How was he here?
Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.
Jason tried to stand up, but couldn't. Thick ropes tore into his skin and held him in place, his arms behind his back. He couldn't reach the binding, but it felt tight. Unyielding.
Joker clicked his tongue. "Now, birdie. That's pretty rude, trying to escape before we even had a conversation."
"Fuck you!" he shouted, channeling all the rage he had into it. His voice echoed around, sounding much weaker without the helmet on.
Distantly, he knew he was shaking. He hadn't been that terrified when he was fifteen.
Joker laughed. The sound caused a weird reaction in Jason's body, instantly making him nauseous. He breathed through his teeth and looked around, not trying to be discreet about it.
They were in a small empty room without windows. A metal door was wide open behind Joker, letting the sparse light in. It smelled of humid stone and mildew, which meant they weren't in the same exploded building anymore.
How much time had passed already? Was anyone looking for him?
Suddenly, Joker stopped laughing.
"You think I am here to hurt you." His voice got uncharacteristically even, without a hint of humor. Somehow, it was worse than before. "You think I am here for another round of our little game."
He walked to the far corner of the room, the one Jason couldn't see unless he strained his neck, and returned with a crowbar. It gleamed in a dim light, shiny and new.
"Let me tell you a story," he said, tossing the crowbar from one hand into another. Click. "Once upon a time there was a dear little girl called Little Red Riding Hood." Click. "Her family didn't want her and tried to get rid of her many times. They sent her into the woods but, somehow, she always came back." Click. "Until one day, her father beat her to death."
The crowbar hovered above Jason's head. Like that, he could see his own distorted reflection — no helmet and only the domino mask hiding his eyes. He scowled.
"Will you get to it already? I'm getting bored."
Joker's expression was an unreadable mask when he stared at him. For a long second, the only sound in the room was Jason's heavy breaths.
"Have you been listening to the story? This," he raised the crowbar, pointing his finger at it. "Is not for me to use."
***
Bruce landed onto another rooftop and watched the black smoke dissipate into the sky. Chemical analysis found a new tranquilizing substance in it, thankfully, not dangerous enough to evacuate the city — but it had an ability to seep through the most of respiratory filters.
"Red Hood, report," he growled into the comm for the sixth time and once again, only heard cracking static.
"Still tracking the clue," Oracle's voice was tense. "I've called Nightwing already. He will be in Gotham in twenty."
Bruce didn't have any strength to argue. With Arkham breakout sirens still ringing in his ears and Robin out of commission — although, Tim had tried to convince them he was ready to put the suit back on — Bruce had to admit, they would need backup.
No one still knew which Rogues managed to escape the walls of the Asylum. One part of the guards was acting delusional, while the other refused to talk at all. In a situation like that Batman couldn't allow himself to stand in one place. Still, he did. He felt paralyzed.
Jason went inside the burning building half an hour ago and promptly disappeared. No traces left, except for a flash drive with encrypted message on it and, of course, the smoke. It was a planned kidnapping, and Bruce was recognizing the style.
Joker had Jason.
The thought itself made cold panic seep deeper into his chest. It felt so much like a nightmare, he questioned his own sanity.
Joker had Jason, and each passing minute could mean the difference between life and death.
"Damn it." He shut his eyes and breathed.
He couldn't live through it again. There was no way around it — if Jason died, Bruce would... he would have to arrange another funeral at least, and that would be... that would be too much.
Why. Why now? He'd just started to make peace with the fact that things between them would never be the same as before. He'd just started to feel thankful for the fact that Jason was simply alive and able to sleep peacefully in his own place.
Now, he was gone.
Bruce felt paralyzed. It had to be a divine punishment for his inaction.
"I got it!" Oracle shouted, and a spark of hope traveled to his numb limbs. "The flash drive, it contains... coordinates." Her voice grew reluctant. "I'll send them, but it's definitely a trap, B."
"It doesn't matter." He jumped and glided in the direction of the red dot. "With Joker, everything is a trap.
The coordinates pointed to an abandoned warehouse on the edge of the Crime Alley, because of course they did. Bruce didn't stop on the nearby roof — there was no time for a proper surveillance, and he wasn't in the right mindset anyway. He forced his muscles to release some tension and ignored the deep-seated fatigue that always came at this time of the day.
Maybe, after getting Jason out, he could take a short break.
The door was left wide open, the warehouse empty. His steps echoed in the large space as he walked further in.
He had expected a whole scene to be prepared already: Jason tied on the ground and a clock counting the seconds before an explosion. The fact that instead he only got pressing silence brought both relief and dread in equal measure.
The metal hatch under the thin rubble wasn't hard to find. It wasn't rusty, unlike anything else in the warehouse, and opened easily, without a creak.
The stone stairs behind it were covered in mold. He couldn't see the end of it, even with the night vision on, and had no idea where it could lead.
Even after all those years, Gotham remained full of secrets.
"B? Report," Oracle's voice cracked in his ear, breaking his line of thought.
"I am going down," he said, already making the first step. "It's deep. I'm not sure there will be a connection."
"Do you need backup? Spoiler can be there in ten."
"No." No way was he bringing another kid into Joker's trap. "Help her on the streets. This is going to be a busy day."
It took him over three minutes to reach the bottom of the stairs. Down there, water soaked the walls and splashed under his boots with each step. A door stood in front of him, old metal covered in rust, unlike the hatch, and only opened with great strain.
He was ready for an ambush — that was why the sight made him freeze.
Jason lay on the stone floor just a few meters away, in a small cell across the hall. His door was wide open. He seemed to be conscious but breathed heavily, duct tape covering his mouth. Many layers of rope wrapped around his torso and limbs. He wasn't wearing his helmet.
Bruce had to fight the instinctual need to grab him and get out. Instead, he looked around the hall, noticing half a dozen of other doors, all visibly closed.
"I found Red Hood," he said into the comm, but didn't get an answer. They were cut out, then.
He turned back to Jason, still not coming closer. "Hood, make a sound if you can hear me."
It took Jason five seconds to respond with a broken groan. Impaired reaction — a head trauma or, perhaps, some kind of a drug. Neither of those were good options.
"I'll get you out, I swear."
That wasn't the smartest thing to say in the middle of Joker's trap, but, damn it. He couldn't look at Jason and not feel the urge to bring him at least a crumble of comfort.
"Now, that was very sweet, Batsy. Have you been working on your dad voice?"
He turned around — one of the previously closed doors was now slightly ajar, letting a sliver of dull light into the hall. A shadow moved behind it. Laughter — slow and quiet, at first, then louder, higher — filled the space.
He hated it. God, he hated it so much.
"That's enough, Joker." He grabbed the batarang and stepped between Jason and the door. "Come out."
The laughter died out. Shadows moved around the hall as the door creaked open, revealing a figure behind.
Joker held a flickering candle in his left hand and a crowbar in his right. His suit was dirty and ragged and loosely hung on his body, held by threads. He looked even thinner than usual. Still, he smiled wider than Bruce ever saw before.
"Oh, I'm out now. My friend, on the other hand..." he giggled and Bruce readied to throw the batarang. "Forgive him, he is very shy."
The next moment, a mountain of muscles collided with his side, sending him into the wall. He gasped and changed the stance, barely blocking a wild punch. Static filled his vision as the pain registered, and a momentary delay costed him a missed blow in his gut.
His lungs spasmed. The pure, animalistic strength behind the blow told him more than the sight in front his eyes. Bane had escaped Arkham and was now working with Joker. He wasn’t messing around either.
The fight was quiet. Bruce blocked the punches as well as he could and aimed for the tube that pumped Venom into Bane's system, but the batarangs rebounded from the metal easier than ever. It was hard to reach with hands while being pinned to the wall.
He didn’t let himself panic. His next counteroffensive strike made Bane stumble and move back. Just a half of a step, but it was enough to win some ground for a more equal footing.
He punched and evaded. Each blow, blocked or not, still hurt like a motherfucker. It really seemed like they changed the dosage, or, perhaps, the formula itself.
The sensation was all too familiar, except it was worse. His back hurt with phantom pain as much as with pressing fatigue, and the seconds bled into each other, Bane's movements too fast to see. He avoided a hit and missed another one. Then another, and another.
Harsh breaths filled his ears. The world slowly shrank on itself into a dot, until disappearing entirely.
***
He woke up with a start.
Fireworks danced under his eyelids, exploding in short bursts of pain. Cracked stone under his back — cold and unyielding even through the armour. Someone breathed heavily right next to him.
Jason.
He sat up, holding back a groan. God, it hurt. Even his eyes hurt, and he had to blink furiously for a solid half a minute to get rid of the spots in his vision.
The space was claustrophobically small and barely lit. A cell with a metal door shut close — Jason's cell, because Jason was here, laying on the floor near his legs.
Bruce froze. He didn't dare to move until he was sure that the heavy breathing was Jason's and not somebody else's, that the expansions and contractions of his chest weren't just a trick of poor lighting.
He shifted closer to the body. Noted the pale, sweaty skin and an odd angle of his neck, which had to be uncomfortable. Jason's face was warm to the touch, on the edge of burning, and it took Bruce a second to realize he didn't have his gloves.
Mechanically, he patted himself over with a detached sense of wrongness that always came up when something was missing. Everything, except the armor itself, was missing. His batarangs, stun and smoke grenades, grappling hook. Slowly, he brought hands to his face, groping the familiar, sharp ridges of the cowl. It was still in place.
Small comfort, but it was something, all things considered. He turned his attention back to Jason.
The duct tape was easy to remove. Jason made a wheezing sound, gasping in deep, hysteric inhales. His lips were bloody.
"Hood? Can you hear me?" Bruce asked, trying to decipher the movements of his pupils under the domino mask.
Jason coughed and spit out blood. "The fucker drugged me again. Can't move."
The angle of his neck now made sense and Bruce turned him into a more comfortable position, earning a short groan. Untying the ropes would take time, and it wasn't the main priority anymore, that he knew Jason couldn't move. He'd have to leave it for now.
"Any serious injuries?"
"No. He had a crowbar, but he... didn't use it. Just punched me in the face." Jason's voice was uncharacteristically small — still, his words let Bruce make a deep breath. His son hadn't been tortured again. Not yet.
He closed his eyes for a second, fighting migraine and a possible concussion. Going hand to hand with Bane always felt like fighting a speeding truck, so it came as a surprise that he was still relatively unharmed. A few cracked ribs, a fractured bone in his left arm and bruises — many bruises — but it wasn't the same as a broken spine.
Why?
"You shouldn't be here," Jason whispered roughly with an odd bitterness in his voice.
Bruce looked at him then, trying not to feel rejected. It wasn't the right time for that. "I'm here to get you out. And I will."
That wouldn't be the first time he escaped a Joker's trap. Sure, Bane complicated the situation, but it was still salvageable. Nightwing would arrive in Gotham soon if he hadn't already, and with the help of Spoiler they would create enough distraction for Bruce to act.
Jason didn't seem convinced. He bit his lip, making the bleeding worse, and Bruce was about to tell him to stop.
Metal screech cut his words.
He turned to the door — it was still closed but had a window now, big enough to put a hand through. He stood up slowly but still had to fight off the nausea. Definitely a concussion, then.
Joker watched him from the other side of the door, his eyes dark and sunken in a fleeting light of a candle, his smile looking more like a grimace. From his position, Bruce could only see his face and neck. No sight of Bane.
"How's your new room, Batsy? Comfortable?" Joker asked, smiling a bit wider. "Must admit, it feels so special seeing you like this."
"What is your plan here?" Bruce growled through the hoarseness of his throat. "Teaming up with Bane? That's unlike you."
A match made in hell. He couldn't for the love of God figure out how they didn't kill each other on the way from Arkham.
"He is an interesting company, I must admit. Has some... ideas. But it wasn't really a team up, more like an exchange of favors."
Wasn't. Past tense. Could it mean that Bane was gone now? Or was it a simple trap?
"Oh, sorry, I completely forgot." Joker stood on his toes, looking down, as if trying to see the floor of the cell. "How is my little pumpkin doing? He is not dead again yet, is he?"
A low, almost inhuman growl came somewhere from Bruce's chest. It took all of his self-control to not push his hand through the window, and he didn't do it only because Joker was clearly out of reach.
"Wow, someone is not in a good mood."
"I'll make you regret this for the rest of your life," a threat rolled down his tongue with ease, just as well as a dozen of similar threats before.
Joker only waved his hand. "Promises, promises."
Once again, Bruce wondered if spending six months in a full body cast made Joker feel at least a bit of pain, and if the pain made him think, just for a second, that his games were not worth it.
The smile didn't look the same as before, he noted. A little more chipped around the edges, worn out, even. And he hated that the face in front of him became such a permanent part of his life that he could tell the difference.
Maybe it was just a trick of light. Or maybe it was just a trick.
"We are wasting time," Joker said in a matter of fact tone. "You know, I gathered three of us here today for a reason, and I'm tired of chatting. You are not even a good listener! So, let's get to it."
Something clanged inside their cell, making Bruce turn around. Two items lay on the floor near Jason. A crowbar and a gun.
They were not there before. Bruce was relatively sure he wouldn't miss something like that even in a worse condition. He looked up — the ceiling had a small metal hatch, now closed. It didn't budge when he pulled it.
A crowbar and a gun. He could already guess where this was going, and the idea made him swallow the nausea down.
Behind his back, Joker still talked. "See, the last time we played this game, you were supposed to make a choice. And you didn't."
Bruce grabbed the crowbar and tried to open the door of the cell with it. The rusty metal screeched, but didn't give.
"You had to choose between your dear dead Robin and me, but instead, you turned around and just left!"
He tried it on the hatch as well. It didn't have a wide enough gap to apply the lever.
"So, I thought it would only be fair for all of us if you tried again. And I know what you think — I would never kill anyone, blah, blah, blah. Don't worry. I made it a bit easier for you to choose."
He could throw the crowbar at Joker, but that would barely solve the problem. They would be still locked in a cell with Bane somewhere nearby.
"See, you’re not even looking at me! That's what I mean, when I say you’re a shitty listener."
The voice was higher that usual, almost hysteric. Bruce turned back to the door and the shadow of a man behind it. "Whatever you pull out, I won't play your game."
It was easy to say, a practiced response to most of Joker's stunts. It wasn't as easy to believe in his own words, not when he was trapped miles underground with no connection to backup.
Joker smiled wider, but didn't say anything. They stood in silence for several long seconds when Bruce noticed another sound — barely audible ticking. It was coming from the walls.
He heard Jason's breath stutter.
"Ah, forgot to mention that." Joker's shoulders moved, but Bruce couldn't see what his hands were doing. "I turned the bombs on when we started talking. I think you still have, what, about seven minutes? Honestly, not sure."
The door rattled as his fist connected with it. Joker didn't flinch.
"Okay, okay. I see you are losing patience, so I'll explain." He raised his hands, and the flame of the candle almost went out. "You have two choices to stop the bombs. One — shoot me with the gun. I have a heart monitor that connects to the timer. If my heart stops, the timer will stop too."
Bruce punched the door again, seriously considering doing it until the lock broke.
"And option number two." Joker went silent for a good five seconds before continuing. "You can strike the little birdie over there with a crowbar a few times. Nothing lethal, though! I'll count the hits and I promise, it won't even be a lot."
He'd expected that, of course. Still, his vision went static white.
"You son of a bitch!" Jason's voice came through all the noise in his head as an echo. "If you think I won't skin you alive when I get my hands onto you—"
Joker clicked his tongue in a parody of disappointment. "Now, pumpkin, stop wasting time by interrupting me. You don't want to blow up again, do you?"
He laughed, his eyes sunk deep, opened wide and staring Bruce right into his soul, like there was no cowl, no barriers between them. It was a haunting sound, the one that never failed to put an idea into Bruce's head that maybe, maybe it would be okay if he just... ended this. Once and for all.
But as fast as that thought came, it disappeared just as quickly. There had to be another way.
Joker stopped laughing in what felt like at least a minute. "Alright, I need to chat with my friend now, so I'll give you some privacy. Don't start without me!" He blew out the candle, and the door window shut closed, casting them in almost complete darkness.
"And to think that none of that would've happened if you strangled him years ago," Jason growled before Bruce even had time to activate night vision. "Like you fucking should have!"
He certainly seemed more present now, that the effects of the drug were wearing off. It didn't mean that Bruce wouldn't have preferred him to keep quiet while he was coming up with an escape plan.
He came back to the door and inspected the mechanism. It was an old, but intricate lock, hard to pick even with the right equipment. Equipment that he didn't have anymore.
"I've never heard of this place before. No mentions on old sewer maps. It has to be an abandoned prison of sorts, used by cultists, maybe, or another secret organization."
"The fuck are you talking about?"
He allowed himself to sigh under his breath. "It is important to analyze the situation from different points of view if we want to get out, Hood. I taught you that—"
"It wouldn't fucking help, and you know it." All those years, and Jason still had the same intonations when he was stressed and tried to cover it up. "You wanna get out — better listen to what that lunatic said. And if you don't have the guts to shoot him, there's another option."
Bruce scowled. "Don't."
"You think I am happy with this?"
"I think you are overreacting due to panic. We have no reason to believe that Joker would keep his word in either scenario."
Jason scoffed. "Well, you don't know him then."
"I know he is an agent of chaos. His actions are impossible to predict."
"Maybe, if you are blind."
Bruce tried his best to cover the irritation in his voice as he inspected the closed window. "What do you mean by that?"
"I mean, this isn't a test." The words were spit out like venom. "He knows what you will choose, and he gets off by knowing you had a choice to kill him, but decided not to. So, no tricks."
"No tricks." Bruce weighed the idea in his head and came to a conclusion that he hated it with passion. "It doesn't matter. I won't give him the satisfaction of playing his game."
Jason didn't answer. Abrupt silence made the bomb ticking impossible to ignore.
They didn't have much time left. Bruce knew it.
The door was a dead end, but the walls had places that seemed weak, prone to crumbling. And he just happened to have a tool to break through them.
He got one hit when Jason shouted. "Stop!"
The sound of pure, unfiltered fear in his voice made Bruce freeze mid-movement. "What, what's wrong?"
"There are bombs, you will trigger them." Jason breathed in harshly. "Just, fuck. Do you have a death wish?"
Bruce didn't notice the crowbar lowering in his hand. He did notice the way Jason flinched when its end connected with the floor, making an echoing clink.
He tried his best to ignore it.
"If I get to the bombs, I will deactivate them. It's the most reliable plan—"
"No." Jason's breathing picked up again, threading to a dangerous level. "If you can't deactivate them... there will be nothing between us and them. Not even a wall."
"J- Hood..."
"They are everywhere, B. I can hear the ticking from every wall."
That wasn't true. Bruce listened in for a few seconds to make sure of that.
"There is just one, Hood. It's right there—"
"Get away from it!" Jason jerked with his whole body, ignoring the ropes tightening visibly. "Just... don't, B. It's not fucking worth it."
He was hyperventilating, Bruce noted. A hitch of breath on each inhale. His eyes big and round, even through the mask. He didn't seem to notice the ropes digging into his wrists, or fresh blood dripping from his mouth.
It was then that Bruce felt a pang of deep pain in his chest. Sorrow so strong, it made him sway on his legs.
He remembered, months ago, making peace with the fact that they might never go to what they'd been before. Jason wasn't the same boy — the death changed him, years in the League of Assassins cemented that change. He had good reasons to hate Bruce and used methods that threaded dangerously close to the line of a Rogue. None of that Bruce was ready to face yet.
Now, Jason's voice carried all the desperation of a kid who'd lost his family before and was terrified to lose it again. The sight was mind-numbing. Bruce couldn’t look or listen to him, not if he wanted to stay clear-headed and get them out.
He closed his eyes for a moment and wished he knew exactly how much time he had to comfort his son. He wondered if he was supposed to be doing that instead of trying to find a way out, but the rational part of his brain made his raise the crowbar again.
He was ready to break the wall in one good hit, when the window opened.
"Don't bother with that. I made sure you can't deactivate the bombs." Joker was back, candle light drawing shadows on the ceiling. "Also, there is another wall behind, so, like, it's a real waste of time."
Bruce did try to get him with a crowbar. Joker simply stepped out of the reach. "Speaking about time, you are almost out of it, Batsy. Of course, I don't know for sure, so it's in everyone's best interest if we start now."
He looked at the floor again, chuckling low. Bruce didn't dare to turn around, so he didn't see the expression on Jason's face.
"One explosion can bring this whole place down. You will die too," he said, his own words sinking in the white noise around.
Joker leaned in closer, his eyes shiny with the reflected light and something way more sinister. "Ah, but you won't let that happen, right? Because, see, we need each other. You need me way more than you ever needed any of your Robins. Let alone this one." He nodded in Jason's direction, and Bruce had to fight the urge not to throw himself at the door again. "We are the real dynamic duo here."
Jealousy. That was his real motivation. Bruce could use it.
He made sure his voice was even when he spoke. "I do need you, Joker. Why are you even questioning it?" Play on his terms. "Red Hood has nothing to do with it. Let him go, and you'll get my full attention."
Joker didn’t seem happy with the idea. "That's not how you play the game, Bats. I explained the rules already, c'mon."
The clock was ticking. How much did they have left? Minutes? Seconds?
"Ten strikes," Joker said. "And I'll stop the bomb."
The world folded into itself.
Ten strikes. Jason could live through that. Hell, he'd lived through more already, and he still had the armor on. Maybe, he wouldn't even have any broken bones.
They had fights before, an ugly kind — none of them ended well. This one would hardly be worse.
"C'mon Bats. Time is almost up!"
The crowbar was right in his hand. The gun still lay on the floor. It was the most logical option, and Jason didn't talk anymore. Maybe... maybe, he'd disassociated already and wouldn't remember—
Bruce didn't finish that thought when the gun in his hand went off.
There was a hole in place of Joker's eye. A shocked expression set on his face right over the permanent smile, like a new mask. A beat past, and he swayed, falling down with a thump and out of Bruce's view, dragging the candle light with him.
The ticking didn't stop.
Bruce's body moved like a marionette without any thought behind it except cover Jason. He took off the cowl and put it on Jason's head, then fell on top, spreading the cape around them as well as he could.
He felt fast, shallow breaths on his cheek, heard quiet whimpers. His hands covered Jason's head, the cowl under his fingers foreign and familiar all the same, and he squeezed a bit tighter when the ticking grew louder that the noise in his ears.
Somewhere on the other side of the door, Joker's heart made the last beat and ceased. The ticking stopped a moment later.