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The abandoned nave of the Gotham Cathedral was a cavern of shadows and rotting wood, illuminated only by the erratic strobe of a damaged police helicopter circling high above the stained-glass dome. The air tasted of wet stone, copper, and the lingering, acrid sweetness of dissipated Joker Venom.
The fight was over, but the violence hadn’t left the room. It hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.
The Joker was pinned against the pulpit, his purple suit torn, his face a canvas of bruises that disappeared into his white makeup. He wasn’t struggling. He was resting, leaning back against the splintered wood like a king on a throne, a wide, bloody grin splitting his face.
Surrounding him was Gotham’s colony of Bats. Batman stood front and centre, a monolith of black Kevlar. To his left, Nightwing and Red Robin. To his right, Spoiler, Black Bat, and Signal.
And standing directly over the Joker, the barrel of a .50 calibre pistol trembling just inches from the Clown’s forehead, was the Red Hood.
Do it, the voice in Jason’s head hissed. You can end it. Right now.
“Hood,” Batman’s voice was a low warning, a rumble of thunder. “Stand down. It’s over.”
“Is it?” Joker wheezed, his eyes locking onto the red helmet. “Is it ever over, my boy? My sweet, temperamental, resurrected boy?”
Jason’s finger tightened on the trigger. The leather of his gloves creaked. “Shut your mouth.”
“Aww,” Joker cooed, tilting his head. He looked delightedly at the gun barrel. “You’ve always been my favourite, you know. The others...” He gestured dismissively at Nightwing and Red Robin. “They’re so... obedient. So boring. But you? You have passion. You have fire. You have marks on you that the others don’t have.”
“He’s trying to bait you, Hood,” Dick said, stepping closer, his voice calm but urgent. “Don’t give him the satisfaction. Case him and let’s go.”
“Bait?” Joker laughed, a wet, hacking sound. “I’m not baiting! I’m reminiscing! We have such a history, don’t we, birdie? The beating... the explosion... and then, the reunion.”
Jason’s breath hitched. He felt the phantom constriction in his throat. He knew where this was going.
Please, he thought. Please don’t say it. Not in front of them.
“Secure him,” Bruce ordered, stepping forward to physically interpose himself between Jason and the Joker. “Now.”
“Why the rush, Batsy?” Joker cackled, peering around Bruce’s cape. “Are you afraid I’ll tell the other little birdies about our secret? About the choice you made?”
“There are no secrets here,” Red Robin said sharply, his bo staff ready. “We know what you did to him. We know you killed him.”
“Oh, I killed him once, sure,” Joker waved a hand dismissively. “Boring! Old news! I’m talking about the second time he died. Or... the time he should have died.” Joker’s eyes gleamed with malicious glee. “I’m talking about the apartment. The night the big, bad Red Hood took off his helmet and demanded Daddy make a choice.”
Jason lowered the gun slightly, his other hand twitching towards his neck.
“Don’t listen to him,” Jason grated out, his voice distorted by the modulator. “He’s lying.”
“Am I?” Joker’s voice dropped to a sinister whisper that echoed perfectly in the cathedral acoustics. “I remember it so clearly. The smell of cheap carpet. The ticking of the clock. You had a gun to my head, didn’t you, birdie? You were crying. So emotional. You gave Daddy Bats an ultimatum.”
Joker looked at the confusion on Spoiler and Signal’s faces. He drank it in like fine wine.
“Tell them what he said, Bats!” Joker shouted, Bruce’s face behind the cowl darkened. “You won’t? Oh alright, I’ll tell them then! He said, ‘Killing is the only answer. The only way to stop the cycle!’”
“That’s enough,” Bruce said. His voice wasn’t just angry; it was desperate. He reached for Joker’s lapels.
“No!” Joker shrieked, laughing maniacally. “Let me finish the story! It’s the best part! The Bat—the moral compass, the saint of Gotham—he had to choose. Save his murderous, broken son? Or save poor, innocent Uncle Joker?”
Dick looked at Bruce. He expected a denial. He expected Bruce to say, ‘He’s insane, ignore him.’ But Bruce was frozen. The Dark Knight was standing still, his jaw clenched so tight the cowl looked like it might crack.
“He didn’t choose you, little bird, did he?” Joker purred, looking straight at Jason. “He chose me.”
“Liar,” Tim spat. “Batman would never choose you over his son.”
“Wouldn’t he?” Joker’s grin widened, exposing yellow teeth. “Then ask Hoodsy how he got that nasty, jagged scar across his throat. Ask him why he wears the high collars. Ask him why he flinches when he sees Batsy reach for his fancy belt.”
The silence that followed was absolute. The rain hammered against the roof, but inside, the world had stopped.
“What is he… talking about?” Cassandra asked. Her voice was small. She was looking at Jason, reading his body language: the tremors, the defensive posture, the way he was guarding his neck.
“Tell them, birdie!” Joker goaded. “Tell them how Daddy stopped you from killing me! Did he hug you? Did he tackle you? Did he use a taser?”
Jason was shaking. The gun in his hand felt like it weighed a thousand tons. He wanted to pull the trigger. He wanted to blow Joker’s head off just to make the voice stop. But he couldn’t move. He was paralyzed by the memory. The whistle of the wind, the sharp, sudden agony, the spray of his own hot blood.
“He threw a Batarang,” Joker whispered, savouring every syllable. “A sharp, shiny Batarang. Not at the gun. Not at your hand.” Joker drew a finger across his own throat, making a wet, slicing sound with his mouth. “Szzt. Right across the jugular. Or was it the trachea? There was so much blood, it was hard to tell!”
“Shut up!” Jason roared. He lunged, kicking Joker in the chest.
The Joker flew back with the pulpit, cracking the wood, but he just laughed harder, coughing up blood. “It’s true! It’s true! He slit your throat to save my life! He butchered his own boy to keep his hands clean! Isn’t that hilarious?”
“Batman,” Dick said. He turned to his father. His face was pale under the domino mask. “B, tell me he’s lying. Tell me that never happened.”
Bruce didn’t speak. He stood like a statue, staring into the darkness of the cathedral ceiling.
“B?” Stephanie’s voice wavered. “Please.”
“He can’t deny it!” Joker crowed. “Because the Bat doesn’t lie! He just omits! He just hides his sins in the dark! He watched his son bleed out on the floor and then left him to blow up! And you all think he’s a hero!”
Joker looked at Jason, his eyes filled with a twisted, sickening affection. “I would never have done that to you, birdie. I killed you with a crowbar and bomb, sure, but that was business! Show business. You understand, yes? But him? He hurt you because he loved his Code more than he ever loved you. That’s the real joke!”
Jason let out a sound, a strangled cry of rage and misery. He raised the gun again, aiming right between Joker’s eyes.
“Hood, no!” Tim shouted.
“I’m going to kill him,” Jason sobbed, the modulator failing to hide the break in his voice. “I have to kill him.”
“If you kill him, he wins,” Bruce said. It was the wrong thing to say.
“He already won!” Jason screamed, spinning to face Bruce, the gun still in his hand, though not aimed at his father. “He won the moment you threw that blade! He won the moment you decided his life was worth more than mine!”
“I saved you from becoming irredeemable,” Bruce said, his voice flat, hollow.
“You slit his throat!” Dick yelled. The sound of Nightwing losing control was terrifying. “You actually... you slit his throat?”
“To save the Joker,” Duke whispered, stepping back from Bruce as if he were radioactive. “You almost killed him... to save the Joker.”
“And look at him now!” Joker giggled from the floor. “He still follows orders! He still wears the bat on his chest! Talk about Stockholm Syndrome! Daddy Bats cuts him open, and the batling comes crawling back for more!”
“We’re leaving,” Bruce announced. He grabbed the Joker by the collar, hauling him up roughly. “Now.”
“No!” Jason snapped, holstering his gun, his movements jerky. “I’m not going back to the Cave with you. I’m not doing this.”
“You are,” Dick said firmly. He walked over to Jason. He didn’t touch him, he looked afraid to touch him now, but he blocked Jason’s path. “We are all going back. And we are going to talk about this. Because if this is true... if this is real...” Dick looked at Bruce with a look of pure devastation. “Then I don’t know who you are anymore.”
The Batcave was usually a sanctuary. Tonight, it was a courtroom.
Joker had been handed off to Commissioner Gordon at the rendezvous point. He had gone laughing, singing a song about ‘Three Blind Mice’, leaving the family with the poison of his words running through their veins.
They stood in a circle near the medical bay, joined by Alfred. Bruce had removed his cowl. He looked exhausted, aged ten years in the last hour. Jason stood apart, still in his full armour, his helmet on the table, his back to the wall.
“Take off the jacket, Jason,” Tim said. It was the first thing Tim had said since they got out of the transport. He was sitting at the computer, staring at a blank screen, his hands shaking.
“No,” Jason said, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s fine. It’s over. Joker was just... exaggerating.”
“Exaggerating?” Stephanie demanded. She was teary-eyed. “Bruce didn’t deny it, Jason! Bruce stood there and let him say it!”
“He hit the armour,” Jason lied. He was desperate. He needed them to stop looking at him. He needed them to stop looking at Bruce with that hatred. Because if they hated Bruce, then Jason’s entire worldview—that he was the screw-up, the failure, the one who forced Bruce’s hand—would collapse. And Jason didn’t think he could survive that collapse.
“Not the armour,” Cass said. She moved across the room. She stood in front of Jason. “Your pain. I see it. Trying to hide.”
“I deserved it!” Jason shouted, the words ripping out of him.
The family recoiled as if he had slapped them.
“What?” Dick whispered.
“I deserved it,” Jason repeated, his voice dropping, trembling. “You guys weren’t there. You didn’t see me. I was crazy. I had a gun to the Joker’s head. I was going to blow his brains out. I gave Bruce an ultimatum. I told him, ‘Kill him or I will.’ I forced him into a corner.”
Jason looked at Bruce, his eyes pleading for validation. “I forced you. You didn’t have a choice. You had to uphold the Code. You had to stop me.”
“So, you slit his throat?” Damian asked. The boy’s voice was ice cold. He looked at his father with an expression of absolute disgust. “You, who lectures me on restraint? You, who forbade me from using lethal force? You used a lethal attack. On your son.”
“It was calculated,” Bruce said. He was looking at the floor. He couldn’t meet Jason’s eyes. “I aimed for the soft tissue. I knew the anatomy. I knew it wouldn’t be fatal if treated immediately.”
“If treated immediately?” Barbara’s voice cut in from the speakers. “Bruce, the building exploded thirty seconds later! You left him bleeding out in a building rigged with C4!”
“I went back for him,” Bruce said softly. “But he was gone.”
“Because he crawled away to die!” Dick screamed. He grabbed a tray of medical instruments and swept them off the table. The crash of steel on the floor echoed violently. “He thought you wanted him dead! He thought his father just tried to execute him!”
“I didn’t,” Bruce whispered.
“Show us,” Tim said. He stood up and walked over to Jason. “Jason, show us.”
“Why?” Jason pleaded, tears tracking through the sweat on his face. “Why do you want to see? It’s just a scar.”
“Because I need to,” Tim said, his voice breaking. “I need to see if the man I’ve followed for half my life isn’t a monster. And if that scar really is what Joker said it is... then I need to know that, too.”
Jason looked at them. He saw the horror in their eyes. He realized then that they weren’t going to side with Bruce. They weren’t going to nod and say, ‘Well, Jason was being difficult, it had to be done.’
They were horrified for him.
Slowly, his hands shaking so hard he could barely work the zipper, Jason lowered the leather jacket. He unsealed the neck of his bodysuit. He peeled back the high collar of the undershirt.
The silence was worse than the screaming.
The scar was a thick, jagged rope of keloid tissue running horizontally across his throat. It was angry and white against his skin. It wasn’t a clean line. It was a tear. A violent, forceful impact that had ripped through skin and muscle.
Alfred drew in a wet breath. He covered his mouth with a handkerchief, turning away, unable to look.
Dick stared at the scar. He reached out a hand, hovering it near Jason’s neck, but he didn’t make contact. “Jay...”
“It’s not that bad,” Jason said automatically, pulling the collar back up. “I’m fine. See? I’m breathing. He didn’t kill me.”
“He tried,” Duke said. “Man, look at that. That’s... that’s an execution attempt.”
“He was saving the Joker,” Stephanie said. She looked at Bruce, her eyes burning with betrayal. “You chose the Joker. You actually chose him.”
“I chose the law,” Bruce said, but his voice lacked conviction. He looked at the scar. He had seen it before, but never like this, never exposed to the judgment of his family. “I chose not to allow Jason to become an executioner.”
“So, you made him the victim instead,” Damian said. “You sacrificed your son to the altar of your morality. That is not justice, Father. That is vanity.”
“You guys don’t get it,” Jason tried again, stepping toward them. “I was wrong. I was the one pointing the gun. I was the bad guy.”
“Stop it,” Dick said sharply. He grabbed Jason by the shoulders, loosening his grip at Jason’s flinch. “Stop defending him.”
“But he’s Batman!” Jason cried. “If he did it, it had to be right! Because if it wasn’t right... then what was it? If it wasn’t justice, then he just... he just hurt me. He just almost killed me for nothing.” Jason’s voice broke into a whimper. “And I can’t... I can’t live with that.”
Dick pulled Jason into a hug. It was fierce and tight. “I’m sorry. He was wrong. I’m so sorry.”
Jason went rigid in Dick’s arms, and then, slowly, he crumbled. The dam broke. He buried his face in Dick’s shoulder and sobbed. Ugly, wrenching sobs that shook his whole body.
“I thought you’d hate me,” Jason gasped between breaths. “I thought you’d agree with him.”
“Never,” Tim said, stepping in and hugging Jason from the side. “Never.”
“Family,” Cass said, wrapping her arms around Jason’s waist.
Bruce took a step toward them. “Jason...”
“Stay back,” Stephanie warned, stepping between Bruce and the pile of hugging vigilantes. She held her staff out, pointing it at Batman. “Don’t you dare come near him right now.”
“I need to explain—”
“There is nothing to explain,” Alfred said. The butler walked over to Bruce. His face was a mask of cold fury. “I have stitched up almost every wound this family has ever received. I have removed bullets, set bones, and treated burns. I thought I had seen the worst of what this life demands.”
Alfred looked at Bruce with a disappointment so profound it seemed to age him. “But to learn that the scar Master Jason carries, the one he hides so diligently, was put there by your hand? To save that monster?”
“Alfred, you know what Jason was becoming,” Bruce pleaded.
“I know that he was a boy who needed his father,” Alfred said. “And his father slit his throat.”
Alfred turned his back on Bruce. “I will be upstairs preparing tea for Master Jason and the children. Do not follow us, Master Bruce.”
The group began to move. Dick kept his arm around Jason, guiding him toward the elevator. Tim and Damian flanked them, like an honour guard protecting their wounded brother. Cass and Steph brought up the rear, watching Bruce as if he were a threat.
“Jason,” Bruce called out, his voice cracking.
Jason stopped. He didn’t turn around. He touched the scar through his jacket.
“You chose to do it,” Jason said softly. The words echoed in the cave. “You analyse everything. Threat level, collateral damage, past crimes.”
Jason turned his head slightly, just enough to see Bruce out of the corner of his eye.
“And you decided I was the biggest threat in that room.” Jason said. “Or maybe you just panicked, acted on instinct. And honestly, Bruce? I don’t know which is worse.”
The elevator doors opened. The family stepped inside, a wall of colour and warmth closing ranks against the dark.
Bruce stood alone in the cold damp of the cave. The giant penny loomed over him. The dinosaur cast a long shadow. And on the main screen, the case file for the Joker blinked green.
STATUS: IN CUSTODY.
Joker was alive. Safe in Arkham.
Bruce looked at his hands. He flexed his fingers. He remembered the weight of the Batarang that night. He remembered the desperation. He remembered the conviction that he was doing the right thing.
But as the elevator ascended, taking his children away from him, the silence of the cave felt less like a sanctuary and more like a tomb. And for the first time, Bruce Wayne wondered if saving the Joker had cost him everything else.
Somewhere in Arkham, the Joker was laughing. And in the Batcave, the Batman was finally, truly alone.