Work Text:
Gotham was messed up. This was not an opinion or a city review, it was a fact. He had been in this city long enough to know it even before the freakin’ Bat showed up.
And yet, here he still was. Still working, still living, still breathing.
Although he couldn’t exactly tell you how. Luck? Maybe just sheer defiance? It was hard to say.
But hey, he could claim to have escaped death not once, not twice, but ten times. And all from the same person.
The same person who had arrived yet again to try and kill him.
He groaned at the sight. “Listen, can this wait til like… four? I got to work!”
The Batman, as Gotham’s most infamous serial killer was known, did not look amused at the joke.
Well, it was worth a shot. Although he was questioning why Batsy was out in the daytime instead of his usual night.
Guess he fried a few nerves on the guy. “What’d ya bring for me this time? Gas? Wait, that was number four. Are you going to drop me off a building again? What?”
He realized he probably should have been a little more concerned when he saw the gun.
Oh, he had definitely ticked off the Bat then.
The gunshot rang in his ears and pain blossomed in his chest. He fell back against his car, then on to the road.
The Bat left without a word, leaving him to bleed out on the sidewalk. Which was just rude, but Batsy was known for making his victims suffer before death.
Still, it was a sloppy attempt, seeing that he had time to call Harleen and ask her to call the parents of sweet Suzy with an apology that he couldn’t make it to the party, and then call 911.
Getting shot was one of his few reasons he would ever cancel a kid’s birthday party. Honestly, missing it hurt more than the bullet wound currently in his chest.
That last thing he registered before blacking out was sirens getting very close.
Well, what do you know? Maybe he was lucky.
Either that or the universe was playing one big joke with him. He wasn’t sure if he appreciated it or not.
Harleen was at his bedside when he woke up in the hospital the next morning.
She looked angry, which was fair, all things considering.
“Jacky, why’d ya go get ya self shot?”
Jack shrugged. “Not my choice. Batsy stopped by.”
Harleen rolled her eyes. “I know we’re supposed ta be scared of him but this is getting ridiculous.” She gave him a stern look. “Ya didn’t make any more jokes ‘bout him on the internet, did ya, sugga?
Jack winced at the memory of that particular tweet. Bats hadn’t even tried to hide his approach, crashing his fancy car into his and Harleen’s little 2007 Toyota Camry. Insurance hadn’t covered the car, so it was a good thing he had walked away from the crash with only a scratch on his arm. “Haven’t sweetums. Promise.”
“Mhh.” She didn’t look like she believed him.
Okay, so it may not have been on his account but he had performed a subtle joke at a kids party that one of the parents may have been filming. It hadn’t mentioned the Bat directly, but it had been about him having more lives than a cat. But there was no way he was going to tell Harleen about that.
“We could move,” Jack told her.
Harleen gave him a knowing look.
Jack chuckled, “Joking, joking. We don’t leave Gotham–”
“--until we’re six-feet-unda,” Harleen finished. She reached over and squeezed his hand. “I jus’ don’ wanna see that day from the big bad Bat.”
“It’s not like I asked for it!”
Harleen shrugged. “Maybe he’s gotta vendetta on clowns.”
“The first time he tried to kill me, I don’t think he knew my occupation. He seemed pretty surprised by the squirt flower. And then I just ran.”
“Maybe now he’s gotta vendetta on clowns.”
Jack laughed. “I’m telling ya. I could sell squirt flowers as a marketed Bat suppression.”
Before Harleen could respond, her phone buzzed. She answered it, shooting Jack an apologetic look. Jack didn’t mind, laying back on his bed for a bit of rest.
“Dr. Quinzel.”
A pause.
Harleen hit his arm, making Jack look over, curious. “Yes, yes, I have a spot open. What’s tha child’s name?”
Jack felt his heart rate pick up and he was back to sitting straight up in bed.
“Alright, I will write Anthony in fa next Tuesday. Thank ya, Commissioner.” Harleen hung up the phone and looked over, beaming from ear to ear.
Jack shared the smile, gripping her hand as tightly as he could, seeing as hugging was out of the option. “He’s safe?”
“He’s safe,” Harleen sighed. “Now starts ta healin’.”
“There’s no one better than you, Harley,” Jack smiled at his girlfriend. “He’s in good hands.”
“Darn right,” Harleen huffed. “Now you get betta Mista J. Work waits for no one.”
She was certainly right about that.
Jack rested for two weeks before insisting on getting back to work. It was a big city and there was a lot of ground to cover.
His first job was small. Just a local birthday party in one of the apartments uptown. Nothing too straining on his shoulders but he was sure to juggle. Even if it wasn’t as elaborate as usual.
The kids had begged and begged for ten minutes and he had finally caved.
At that party, one of the kids asked him to come to his birthday next month so Jack was sure to talk to the parents when they came to pick him up.
Mom had been wearing a thread-bare shirt and looked pained when he explained little Lila’s request. He had double checked the parents of this party were not close before quietly telling her he’d work for a slice of cake.
Lila was thrilled and Jack was more thrilled, seeing Mom’s eyes tear up and quiet ‘thank you’s’.
Gotham was a Hell scape but that didn’t mean it was heartless. At least, not everyone.
It had been a month since the Bat’s last attempt and Jack was starting to feel on edge. Not enough to take less jobs or anything. He’d rather die than tell a parent or child no to a clown birthday party. And he had worked hard on his reputation.
Most clowns were terrifying to children– and for good reason. The white faces, the bright colored hair, the big noses, and the much too loud and happy voice that grated on your ears. As such, Jack had… changed the definition.
For one, he didn’t call himself a clown except on tax files and legal business talk. He introduced himself as “The Joker” and while he used many of the “clown” jokes and laughs, he had pulled back on the typical aesthetic. His hair was green, but that was normal for him, as he dyed it every two weeks to keep it vibrant. The white make-up, nose, and annoying shoes were ditched for a sleek green suit that was more reminiscent of a magician (which helped seeing as he also used magic tricks in his show). He changed up the show, depending on the age of the kids, with the younger ones getting balloon animals and squirting flowers, while some older kids got full on slapstick and magic that would astonish and not terrify. A few times he was hired for teenage parties and wrote up some new material for a comedy show that was a bit more mature.
It had been such a hit that he was now a popular hire for High School Graduation parties.
It certainly helped that Jack was willing to work with people’s budgets and more than willing to do a few charity shows in places that most entertainers in Gotham wouldn’t get close to. Too much murder and death for them. But not Jack. There were kids who deserved a good laugh to distract them, even for a moment, from the Hellhole they lived in.
He had worked hard to get where he was and there was no way some serial killer was going to keep him from bringing a smile to these kids faces, no sir.
So Jack loaded up the car, kissed Harleen goodbye and wished her good luck at her work (a child psychologist– the best in Gotham, in his opinion) and went to jolly Jacob’s 11th birthday party in the Bristol area.
He didn’t get a lot of jobs in Bristol, so he made sure to take them when he could. The payoff was always good from them.
Jacob was a bit of a brat, along with most of his friends, but Jack knew how to shut that down real quick. He had years of practice and years of doing it under the parents radar. Overall, the party was great, even with the spoiled brats.
Jack couldn’t blame them completely, seeing who they had as parents.
But there was this one kid in the group. Tommy. He was pretty quiet and getting him to talk was like pulling teeth, in Jack’s opinion. But he was polite, and called “The Joker” sir. His smiles were small and his laughs were even quieter. He picked at his food, eating only a quarter of the plate and looked miserable when his father came to pick him up.
Jack took a note of Dad’s car and last name, then went back to his slapstick routine with Charlie the plastic chicken.
“Jacky, this place is gorgeous,” Harleen commented as they were shown to their seats.
Jack had to agree. He had worn his best black suit and he still felt underdressed. Harleen was wearing a beautiful red V-neck dress that Jack had bought her for their one-year anniversary.
It was hard to believe that was ten-years ago, but here they were.
Jack pulled back her chair and gestured for her to sit down.
She gave him a smile. “My Jacky. Eva tha gentleman.”
“I try to be,” Jack chuckled. He sat down across from her, all the while smiling. “I know this place is a little fancier than we usually go–”
“A little?” Harleen teased.
Jack shrugged. “Bristol.”
“I see,” Harleen smiled, looking around the room at all the couples. “Look at all those dresses. They probably cost more than three of my paychecks.”
“I think you’re beautiful,” Jack commented, a twinkle in his eye.
Harleen shook her head, “Stop it,” she giggled. Her gaze turned out. “I like that green dress ova there.”
Jack followed her eyes and appreciated the green silk over a dolled up date. It was pretty, but there was another dress that caught his eye more. “What about that one?” Jack looked to the right. “The woman in the black dress with the silver stilettos?”
Harleen glanced over. “With the silver-flowared hair clip?”
Jack nodded.
Harleen pressed her lips together. “It’s okay, I suppose. But I like this one just fine,” Harleen patted at her dress and gave him a knowing smile.
The date continued all well and good, up until Jack took a bite of his fancy soup (that had a name he couldn't pronounce) and then promptly keeled over, his stomach on fire.
He had time to think ‘poison’ and ‘Bats’ before blacking out.
Three hours later he woke up back in the hospital through the sheer miracle that was modern medicine and some rich idiot being both kind enough and paranoid enough to carry several poison antidotes on his person, recognize the symptoms of said poison, and administer it to his fellow diner.
Harleen looked bitter. “We can’t eat out no more, can we?”
Jack sighed.
He wished Commissioner Gordon could catch that killer already. It had been almost ten years! Honestly, how long did it take to find a killer in a city over the course of ten plus years?
Jack came home to find Harleen sitting at the dinner table.
She looked exhausted, but the second she saw Jack her eyes lit up. “I gotta surprise date for us.”
Jack perked up, immediately. “When?”
“Tonight, if you think you can handle it.”
He flipped open his party planner. Tomorrow was a birthday party at eleven, followed by a quinceañera, followed by a bachelor party. Jack looked back at Harleen.
Her eyes were shining with pure joy, which told him all he needed to know.
“We have to be done by ten,” Jack said gently. “I have a packed day tomorrow.”
Harleen threw her arms around him and gave him a kiss.
Jack laughed. “What kind of occasion is it?”
“I would ‘ave preferred “the works” but seeing as we’re in a rush, we’ll have ta do “fancy”.”
Jack winced. “Sorry.”
“No, no, don’t apologize, sugga.” Harleen grinned. “Yar work is important and I wouldn’ wan ta ave ya tired all day.”
Jack grinned. “You’re the best.”
“I try. Now let’s get ready. We only got five hours.”
For once, Jack had no clients today, which meant he could sleep in.
Didn’t mean he did, but he could have. Instead, he woke up with Harleen, made breakfast for the both of them, then went about the house cleaning up after their messes.
It had been a busy two weeks, what with the surprise date, several parties, Harleen getting a new client, and another murder attempt by Bats that had missed, only because Jack had noticed the car following him and he had ducked down under the spray of bullets in the drive by killing.
Honestly, it was starting to get embarrassing. Batsy didn’t even hit him that time.
Look, he didn’t want to die. No, his job was much too needed and important to die right now. But if a famous serial killer was having this much difficulty killing him, maybe that killer needed to rethink their career choice.
The elusive Bruce Wayne wanted him to come for a party.
Which… Jack thought was weird.
The guy said it was a kids party, but Jack was pretty sure Wayne didn’t have any kids. There was also something about the way he had talked about payment.
But it was in Bristol which Jack never turned down.
Maybe Wayne was just hosting it at his place for a friend.
Not everyone in Gotham was out to get anyone.
Jack was probably being paranoid.
He was not, in fact, being paranoid.
Jack will admit, he should have left when he saw the state of the yard and front gate. Overgrown, not touched in years, and no tire tracks that marked anyone coming or going up the long gravel driveway in who knew how long.
He should not have gotten out of the car once he pulled up, seeing the state of disrepair the manor was in and the broken window that had a plastic tarp taped over it. No self respecting parent would have a kids party in such a location.
And yet, Jack still walked up to the door and knocked. Why? Probably manners. Jack no longer wanted to do this party, but felt it best to cancel it face to face with the client. Perhaps express concerns about the state of his house. He was a rich billionaire whose parents had been killed, so perhaps he grew up too isolated or too ignorant of how a house should look.
It took a moment before the door finally swung open.
Jack was surprised because instead of Bruce Wayne, he was staring at a teenager. Maybe sixteen… seventeen years old? The boy had black hair and green eyes and was wearing long sleeves and pants, all in black.
The right side of his face was covered in bruises.
Bruises that Jack knew all too well.
All thoughts of leaving left and Jack smiled politely at the boy. “Hi there! I’m The Joker, here to throw an extravagant extravaganza for a special someone!”
The boy looked unimpressed, but held the door open, ushering Jack inside.
Jack took in the decrypt mansion, taking note of the disarray, broken furniture, and general filth of the house. “Is the theme apocalyptic or something?” Jack asked. “It looks like hell came through on a broom.”
The boy did not respond, but began to walk down the hall, towards the back of the manor. Jack followed him, counting doors and halls so as not to get lost.
“Dami?”
The teenager spun around quickly.
Jack looked over and felt his heart go up into his throat.
Another boy, black hair and blue eyes. This one couldn’t be more than fifteen, although he looked far too skinny and far to pale. His hands were bandaged, but Jack could see where the blood had been.
The older one (Dami?) looked at Jack, then at the boy, eyes wide and slightly panicked. “You’re not supposed to be up here.”
Jack frowned. They were on the first floor. Did Wayne Manor have a basement?
“Dickie couldn’t stop crying,” the boy whispered. “Sir had me bring him up.”
Dami inhaled sharply. He reached over and grabbed Jack by the arm, yanking him down the hall now.
Jack frowned and tried to pull free, only to find the grip tight and like a vice, unwilling to let go. The boy dragged him down the hall and into a room that must have been a study, once upon a time.
The boy did something with the grandfather clock, which slid to the side revealing a staircase that descended down.
Oh.
Oh, Jack definitely should not have come.
“Down. Now,” the boy ordered, shoving Jack forward.
Jack did as he was told. The staircase was long. Not too long, but long enough for Jack to ask, “How many kids does he have here?”
The teenager remained silent.
Jack repeated the question, more urgent. “How many? Please.”
“...There’s four of us.” He sounded confused by the question but Jack was just glad he answered it.
Four.
Okay, four kids locked in Bruce Wayne’s basement. Wonderful.
As they exited the stairwell, Jack was hit with the stench of rotting corpses and a sight that made him realize that this was worse than whatever he thought it could be.
…
Correction: Four kids locked in The Batman’s basement.
Bruce Wayne stood in the center of the room, a bloody wooden chair next to him. On the other side was a metal tray with handcuffs, a crowbar, and some nasty looking cutting implements that had definitely not been cleaned in years.
Bruce Wayne was the freakin’ Bat. Of course. Why not?
“Hey Bats,” Jack greeted with a wave. “Decided to finish the job, finally?”
Wayne smirked, the bastard.
Jack glanced at the chair and weighed his options. He had luck enough to last this long but all luck ran out, eventually. And this? This was that moment. If he sat down, he was going to die.
And he couldn’t die. Not yet.
So Jack did the only thing he could think of.
He walked in the direction of the chair, chatting and joking about how long it had taken the serial killer to finally catch him and how it was quite clever and just continued on and on until he was close enough before taking off and running to the left towards the giant hole with banisters running along it.
Jack did not wait but hoisted himself up and over then jumped off into the darkness below, praying his luck would hold out for just one more time. If death wanted him after he got out of here, it could have him.
But he just needed to get out of here.
He heard Bats yelling as he fell, more frustrated than angry. Which was good.
There was a waterfall, which meant water. Jack just prayed it was close enough to survive and deep enough not to kill him on impact.
Jack did indeed survive the dive. He also survived getting out of the cave via the long, long swim through an underground cavern.
He surfaced with enough strength to drag himself on the shore, then promptly collapse in a heave of coughing and gasps. Jack then passed out for at least six hours, waking to the sun in his eyes and a bird pecking at his arm.
It was a long walk from the middle of the forest to the road. It was an even longer walk from the road to his apartment, seeing as he lost his wallet in the water at some point or time.
When he did get home, he was sunburnt, his clothes were beyond ruined, and he felt like taking another twelve-hour nap.
“Sugga? Is tha ya?”
“Yeah,” Jack leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.
Harleen came around the corner and took a look at his appearance. “Bats again? I thought he had finally done ya in when ya didn’t come home last night.”
“He almost did,” Jack answered honestly.
“I’m glad ya’re alright, Jacky,” Harleen took him in her arms and held him gently. “I don’ know what I’d do withou’ ya.”
He returned the hug and relished in this moment for just a minute or two. Then Jack pulled back and gave Harleen his most serious face. “Harleen. We have a surprise date we need to attend to.”
Harleen frowned. “Now? Ya jus got back! When did ya ‘ave time ta research–”
“No research required for this one,” Jack growled.
Harleen fixed him with a look. “Jacky, we talked ‘bout this. We ‘ave ta be sure–”
“The Bat has four kids. I saw two. That’s all I need.”
Jack watched Harleen’s gaze turn from concerned to angry. “ ‘ow bad?”
“I’m thinking we need an ‘extravaganza’ for this particular date.”
Harleen’s face shifted into one of hunger that Jack was sure was reflected in his own face. Her hands curled up around his neck and she pressed their foreheads together. “We ‘aven’t ‘ad one of those in a long time.”
“What can I say?” Jack grinned. “I missed ya.”
Harleen did a once over on him. “Well that date’s gonna have ta wait til tomorrow. Ya need rest if we’re doin’ an ‘extravaganza’. ”
“Yes, doctor.”
Jack slipped on his purple coat jacket, making sure the green pocket square was in the front pocket. The bowtie was a brand new green with purple polka dots that Harleen had gifted him two years ago for a “special occasion”. He checked the mirror, making sure the white face paint and red lipstick hadn’t been smudged.
“Ya look dashin’, sugga.”
Harleen smiled at him, dressed up in her finest black and red jumpsuit. Her blonde hair was tucked away inside the hood, propping the bells on the end up. Her face was also painted white with bright red lipstick.
“Why thank you, Harley,” Jack grinned. “You look pretty good yourself.”
Harleen giggled, giving him a gentle kiss before opening her side of the car.
Jack made sure to pop the trunk before following her lead.
The rental had cost them a pretty penny, but it was worth it. No one would question a black Sudan parked on the side of a random street in Bristol. Or at least, no one would approach it for a couple of hours.
The two were just down from Wayne’s house, far enough not to appear on security cameras.
In the trunk, Harleen produced a thick computer from her duffle bag. “I called in a favor from Fries. Best tech he could give us, especially going against The Bat himself.”
“We’ll have to thank him,” Jack hummed. “Maybe Wayne has a safe we could give to him.” Jack grabbed his duffle bag, double checking he had everything. He frowned when he didn’t find something. “Do you have Kane’s gas?”
“Right here,” Harleen held up an inhaler. “And Copplepot left you a present.”
“I saw,” Jack grinned. “I’ll thank him the next time we stop by the Iceberg.”
Harleen slung her own bag her shoulder. She smiled, lips blood red. “Ready, Mista J?”
“More than ready,” Jack chuckled.
The computer automatically hacked The Bats security, setting the cameras on a loop and turning off any alarms and motion sensors.
Jack and Harleen were able to walk through the front gate and up to the front door.
“How do ya wanna do this, sugga?” Harleen asked, hip popping to the side.
Jack grinned, pulling the shotgun from his bag. “Loud.”
They blew off the door knob and let themselves in. They’d cover their tracks later, but their priority was downstairs.
Jack lead Harleen to the Grandfather clock. He had seen Dami do something with the hands but seeing as he wasn’t sure what, they just shot off the hinges and shoved the door aside.
Jack took the lead, pulling out his brand new magnum and giving Harleen the shotgun.
When they got down the stairs, Bats was waiting for them, along with the teenager. Both were armed to the teeth, ready for a militia. And yet, Batman looked taken back when he saw Jack.
Jack grinned at him. “A clown always has the last laugh, right?” Then raised the gun and shot at him.
Here was the thing about serial killers. They never expected to have a fight on their hands. They killed through fear, intimidation, and surprise. So Jack was not at all surprised that his bullet hit no resistance, ripping through the Bat’s stomach.
Of course, the jerk had his own gun, which he pointed up to shoot–
–only to lose most of the hand from Harleen’s expertly placed shot with the shotgun.
The scream he gave was a glorious one, as the child-beating bastard fell to the ground in pain.
At this point, the teenager jumped in front of Bats, two guns in his hands, one pointed at Jack, the other at Harleen.
Neither of them moved to point their barrels at him.
“Kill them,” the Bat hissed, angry, hurt, and probably regretting ever letting Jack “The Joker” into his home.
Harleen gave the teenager a sad smile. “Ya wanna protect him? We won’t stop ya.”
“But you can walk away,” Jack continued. “Walk away and we’ll make sure he never hurts you again.”
The teenager looked between the two of them, clearly torn between his tormentor and two strangers. His voice was quiet. “There… there was talk. About two clowns that…”
Jack smiled. “That was us.”
“You… you never hurt the kids,” the teenager’s voice shook. “I… I hurt them. I–”
“Seeing as you were with him for who knows how long,” Jack jerked his head at the Bat on the floor. “I think we can forgive you.”
Harleen took a step forward, voice light and gentle. “Step aside, dearie. We got him.”
“Damian–” the Bat growled. “I order you–”
Damian dropped the two guns and retreated to what looked like some holding cells in the corner. He typed something in and the door slid open to reveal–
Ah. That was Jack’s cue. “You got him, sweetheart?” Jack asked.
Harleen smiled. “Almost.” She aimed and fired her shot gun again into the Bats undamaged hand who screamed, once again. Harleen smirked, “Now I do.”
Jack smiled, pulling out a different gun from his pocket. He walked up to right to the Bat, pointed the gun at the man’s face and fired.
A little flag popped out that said the word, “BANG!” in big bright and bold letters. Jack crouched down in the Bats face, grinning ear to ear. “Sorry, Batsy. You don’t get to go out that quickly.” He gestured over to Harleen, “Now I’m going to go talk to the little angels you’ve been keeping down here. My lovely assistant is going to get you all situated. And then you and I are gonna share a few laughs.”
Harleen pulled out some rope and began the process of tying up the Bat by the legs, leaving Jack to wander over to the corner.
Damian was hugging three boys in his arms, pressing his face into the top of their heads and whispering something. The poor things looked injured, underfed, and just miserable.
Damian visibly stiffened as Jack approached the group, shoving all three of them behind him.
Jack reached into his bag slowly, telegraphing his movements. He pulled out an inhaler and held it out to him. “You all may want to take two puffs of that.”
Damian glared at it, “What is it?”
“A gas a friend of ours invented,” Jack said gently. “It makes you see good things. Old memories of gentler times, or perhaps something you’ve only ever dreamed. It lasts about an hour and… well, you won’t hear or remember anything else that happened in that hour.” He looks over his shoulder and watches Harleen begin to drag Bats towards the exercise equipment. Jack looks back at them. “It’s not pretty. And you all have seen enough. You don’t need to watch this or see it in your nightmares.” He jerked his head towards the stairs. “You can also leave. Wait upstairs.”
“No,” Damian looked over at the scene that was unfolding. “I… I need to see but I can’t leave…”
“We’ll be okay, Dami,” the youngest boy spoke up. “The clowns are here to help.”
Damian took the inhaler. He examined it, smelling at the mouth piece. He glared at Jack, gaze fierce. “Swear it won’t hurt them.”
“I swear on my life,” Jack said, putting a hand over his heart.
Damian knelt down next to Tim and held it out to him.
The boy took it, fingers trembling, as Damian closed his hand around it.
Jack examined the boys with his eyes. Definitely victims of beatings, based on the bruises he could see. He’d need to get a closer look but not now.
“If you feel even slightly off, Tim–” Damian began.
Tim nodded, then breathed in. His body relaxed almost immediately, a smile appearing on his face. “Dami?”
“Yes?”
“Look at the stars,” Tim pointed at the black ceiling where nothing was there. “You said you’d take me stargazing.”
Damian’s expression looked broken. “I did…” He reached over and took the inhaler, then helped Tim lay down on his back. “Now just watch the stars for now, okay? No one’s going to hurt you there.”
Tim hummed in response.
The younger two followed suit, with the second youngest curling up next to Tim and babbling about reading his favorite book again and the youngest on the other side talking about flying above the ground.
Damian shut the containment cell door, leaving the three locked inside. Jack was grateful. He liked to have the kids out of the room or at least a barrier between them and their tormenter.
Damian breathed out slowly, then turned to Jack. “What… What are you going to do to my Fath–... to him?”
Jack grasped the boy’s shoulder. “Is there anything in particular that you’d like done?”
Damian did not speak for a moment. Emotions flashed across his face, too quick to read. Then it became stoic. Calm. Lifeless. “He enjoyed using the whip on my brothers and I.”
Jack looked around the room, eyes falling onto a corner full of delightful instruments of suffering and pain. He wandered over and quickly found the whip right on top. The blood had not fully dried from the previous whipping.
Jack looked over, angry. “Who?” He did not need to ask the rest of the question.
“Me,” Damian confessed. “For letting you jump before he… could kill you himself.”
Jack curled the whip around his arm and gave Damian a nod. “I would suggest staying away. It will not be pretty.”
“...Good.”
Jack made his way back to his beloved Harleen, who had successfully pulled Mr. Bruce “Batsy” Wayne off the ground with some help of a pull up bar. He was now hanging upside down, like the Bat he claimed to be.
Harleen was wrapping up his hands, to keep him from bleeding out too soon. It was haphazard and had no regard for the amount of pain the serial killer was in, but it sufficed. She looked over at Damian, frowning a bit at his arrival, but seemed to understand.
Jack unfurled the whip, cracking it just in front of Bats, drawing his gaze to him. Jack grinned at him, head tilting slightly to bring forth the image of those creepy clowns that people were so afraid of. “Now let me paint a picture for you, Mr. Wayne. No one is coming for you. We have enough happy gas to be here for the next twelve hours.” He shrugged. “We’ll have to see if you last that long, but I promised my girl an extravaganza and so we are going to have one.”
Jack held up the whip. “We’ll start with the audience’s choice of entertainment, shall we?”
And finally, Jack saw fear light up in the Bats eyes.
The first whip lash drew blood and Jack laughed.
It was the first of many laughs that happened that night.
Jack and Harleen spent four glorious hours making Batsy suffer for what he did. They had perfected the art over the years, aiming to replicate exactly what the abuser had done to the abused– only ten times as worse.
Harleen had been more than happy to fetch the tools Bruce was going to use on Jack, not two days earlier. And Jack had to admit– he might need to add a crowbar to his surprise date bag.
Damian watched the entire affair, his Father’s pleas for help fell on deaf ears. Damian did have the two clowns pause every hour or so to make sure his brothers were away in the land of bliss before returning and allowing them to continue.
At the end of the fourth hour, Harleen and Jack were bored of the screams and the cries of pain– although both of them agreed that this date had been the best one they had in years. Both of them were covered in blood from hair to toe, their costumes well and truly ruined.
Oh, well. Clothes could be replaced. But that time in the Bat’s secret murder cave was a time that would never be replicated.
Jack was almost sad to see it end, and could tell Harleen felt the same. “But alas,” Jake grinned at Bats, smile dripping red, “All great shows must come to an end.”
“We’re eva so grateful ya could be a part of ours,” Harleen purred on the other side, her favorite hammer in hand.
Jake nodded to her and she swung the iron hammer, breaking Batsy’s knees in two swings. Jake took a knife and carved a smile across the bastard’s face, feeling deep satisfaction at how much it bled.
And then the two sat back and watched the breathing and blood slow down.
Damian approached slowly, the blood on the mat soaking his wrapped shoes, but he didn’t seem to mind. He bent down and hissed in his father’s ear, “Anyone can be killed. You taught me that.” There was a pause. “I’m glad my first lesson is your last.”
And then he returned to the cells in the corner.
Harleen and Jack watched the body until it well and truly died.
Harleen gave him a peck on his cheek– bloody and sweet. “Nice work, hon.”
“You too, dear,” Jack grinned back. He turned and looked around the cave at the dozens upon dozens of corpses that littered the ground. Trophies of who knew or cared.
And he would have joined them.
‘Anyone can be killed,’ he supposed. It was a good lesson, despite who the teacher was.
“There’s… there are showers over there,” Damian waved at a door in the cave. “If you want to clean up. I think there might be some spare clothes as well–”
“That’s sweet, little one,” Harleen smiled. “We’ll clean up and meet you upstairs? We need ta talk ta ya before anything else.”
Damian agreed, ushering his still dazed brothers past the swinging corpse of their tormenter without even a glance.
Jack learned a few things during their talk.
One, Damian did not legally exist on any papers or documents. At least, not in the United States. His mother had been a member of the League of Shadows– a group dedicated to doing good from the shadows. According to Damian, his mother had been killed a year after Bruce had kidnapped him (he had only been nine at the time) in an attempt to rescue him from his prison and tormentor. He had no family left to go to. He was currently seventeen years old.
Two, Tim had been missing for a little over five years now, in which time both of his parents died in a plane crash. Neither of them had known he was missing until a year after his kidnapped date, which told Jack all he needed to know about them. He was fifteen years old.
Three, Jason had been taken from the streets, three years ago, after Batman had murdered his mother through a forced drug overdose. The poor boy had been made to watch, which made Jack want to bring good ol’ Brucie back to life and kill him all over again. He had been reported as missing after they had found the body of his mother, but most people had believed he had run off, not that he was taken. He was twelve years old.
Four, Dick had been kidnapped from Haly’s Circus eight months ago, after Batman had orchestrated the Flying Graysons deaths, but apparently missed one. He must have decided it was more entertaining to keep the boy alive than kill him outright and so, almost-ten-year-old Dick had joined the captive boys in the basement.
Five, none of them were allowed to leave the cave, unless Batman had permitted it. Actually, they were not allowed to do most things unless Batman permitted it.
Six, Damian had been forced to help his father with his killings and the beating of his brothers. However, all three of the boys insisted that Damian had done his best to keep it bearable and do less injury to them when possible (And Jack and Harleen could see how those beatings had broken Damian, so they stuck true to their statement of not hurting him).
And finally, Damian had tried to escape exactly once on his own, when Tim had first arrived. The two had made it to the gate before they were caught and dragged back to the house. The incident had seen the Wayne family butler drug out back and shot, then left to rot without a proper burial.
These boys were scared beyond anything Jack or Harleen had ever seen.
And there was no way in Hell they were going to leave them to pick up the pieces alone.
It was almost too easy. Jack had the boys climb in his car (that was still waiting out front by the way), then drove down to the road. He waited for Harleen to rejoin them with anything she had deemed worthy of taking from the house.
Then all of them watched Wayne Manor burn to nothing but ashes.
Jack had Harleen return the rental while he drove the four boys to the police station, along with a report that he had found them wandering just outside of Wayne Manor, which appeared to have burned down sometime last night.
All it took was one interview with each boy for Commissioner Gordon to come to the horrifying realization of who Bruce Wayne had truly been. Damian was an excellent liar and easily convinced the Commissioner that he had finally had enough and lashed out. The ensuing fight had started a fire, which his father had been lost in and Damian had barely gotten himself and his brothers out before the whole thing collapsed.
It took three days to convince the Commissioner and CPS to release all four of the boys to the care of Jack and Harleen.
Although, they had excellent news in the fact that Tim’s parents had died and left him everything in their will. Most of the company had been sold, along with many of the artifacts and valuables of the house, but the estate had yet to be sold.
And seeing as Jack and Harleen lived in a tiny apartment in the city and they needed room to take care of the boys, they had packed up their meager belongings and moved into Drake Manor (although it was neighbors with Wayne Manor, it was far enough away that most days you could forget that awful place had ever existed).
Harleen ended up moving her office into the manor as well, which saved even more money. And seeing as Damian was legally his father’s son, he also had access to quite a bit of funds from Wayne Industries (which had quickly been saved from going under in the ensuing chaos by Lex Luthor, after Jack called in an old favor).
Of course, Harleen and Jack never took anything from that fund that was not necessary. Just food, clothing, and education, all for the boys. They had their own jobs and they had gotten along just fine before. They did not need the money now.
It did not stop Damian from buying the parts and making them two new costumes for their surprise dates. “The blood will come out of these easier,” he had bluntly told them.
Both of them had been touched and had promised to use them for any future outing they might need to take.
Damian had also offered his expertise and skills to help them in their endeavors. Jack had said thank you, but had declined. “Harleen and I love our time together during our dates,” he had explained. “It has been our thing for years and I don’t want to spoil that. But, if we ever need help, we will let you know. For now, focus on your brothers and helping them heal.”
Damian had taken the orders in stride, spending all of his time helping his brothers with their homework (they were being homeschooled at the moment, seeing that all of them were behind and very socially scared from the experience), spending time with them, and just reminding them that they were loved.
Years passed.
Damian returned to the League of Shadows to restore them to their former glory, before entrusting it with his new trusted lieutenant, a man by the name of Slade, and his children. Damian then returned to Gotham after that and became the CEO of Wayne Industries, returning to the ideals and goals his Grandfather, Thomas, had once held.
Tim went to college and graduated in criminology. He joined GCPD as a forensic analyst and helped them solve case after case that had been cold for years. He hadn’t cared much about kicking Jack and Harleen out of his family manor, and so he hadn’t. Instead, he had moved to a little apartment in the city, and left the house to them to use as they wished, visiting Drake Manor on the weekends when he could.
Jason also went to college and graduated with a teaching and English degree. He ended up teaching at one of the lesser off schools in Gotham, specifically a junior high. He quickly became one of the favorite teachers, as he was strict, but merciful in his teaching study (and was one of the few teachers no one dared pick a fight with because you would lose without anyone throwing a punch).
Dick became a gymnastic teacher at Gotham’s Youth Center, teaching any kid who wanted to learn how to flip and cartwheel how to do so. He also volunteered at the Local Women's Center and YMCA to teach basic self-defense.
Jack and Harleen were never their parents– nor did they intend to be. But they were more than happy to be Aunt Harleen and Uncle Jack (although the boys called them Aunt Harley and Uncle Joker more often than not).
Jack was still in the entertainment business. He had been approached several times about expanding with employees and new branches in surrounding cities. He had declined each time, more than happy to be a solo act.
Harleen was still a child psychologist, who received new patients from CPS ever few months or so that she was thrilled to see. Many of her old patients would email her updates of their lives and what they had gotten up to after they had grown up. Each and every one she shared with Jack, with a beaming smile.
And if sometimes whenever he attended a fancy gala, Damian texted them a picture of a well dressed individual next to a small child who didn’t look quite right–
Or Tim just happened to accidentally lose or delete files of unsolved murders and missing person cases that had revealed abused children or partners–
Or Jason texted Jack a first and last name of a student who kept coming to class hungry or bruised–
Or Dick stopped by with a new group picture of his students, with certain members circled in red–
Well, that was a secret between them, The Joker, Harley Quinn and the blood they spill.