Chapter Text
Bruce felt his jaw tense with annoyance as he replayed the video broadcast Oracle had sent him. The static image of Joker’s too-wide smile began to move as it played, the man stepping back while throwing his arms into the air as if he were performing. Bruce scanned the area revealed as Joker’s full body came into view. Underground, it seemed, though he narrowed his eyes as he realized he couldn’t recognize where in the city it was. The frame was too dark to make out any identifiable details. He’d have to wait for him to reveal enough for Bruce to deduce it, or for Oracle to trace the signal back to his location.
“Hello, Batsy! I trust you’ll receive this message promptly, as you always do,” he crooned. “I do hope you’re in the mood for a game. Though it doesn’t really matter, does it? You don’t have a choice!”
Joker burst out into a fit of laughter, tossing his head back while his body all but convulsed with the force of his cackle. It took a more than mildly irksome amount of time for the man to compose himself, and even as he began to speak once more, he had to take gasps of air as smaller chuckles escaped.
“I was going to tell you what the game is, but that would ruin the fun, wouldn’t it? And I won’t let you be a spoilsport now! Not after I put so much work into fixing the broken thing.”
The Joker waved a hand at the camera, as though expecting Bruce to acknowledge his great effort, despite the broadcast being one-directional. Not that the act surprised him, though it still served to irritate him. Bruce rested his chin on his fist as he lingered on Joker’s last few words, flipping through his mental catalog of the man’s weapons that he’d broken over the years. But as he went down the list, all were either destroyed beyond repair or in GCPD custody.
“Oracle, go through the GCPD’s evidence lockup security footage. Report back with any items transported in or out since Joker’s breakout,” Bruce barked into the comm as Joker was busy crying out in another fit of laughter.
“On it,” her voice hummed back through the Batcomputer’s speakers. She was silent for a brief moment before the metallic hum returned, twinged with urgency. “There’s some kind of signal jammer preventing me from accessing his exact location, but it looks like he’s somewhere in Amusement Mile.”
Bruce let out nothing but a hum of confirmation as he slipped into the Batmobile, the Joker’s broadcast transferring onto the screen in it as the car took off out of the cave.
“I’m sure you’re tipped off to my whereabouts by now, so I’ll bid you adieu. I have to prepare, after all,” Joker leaned in close to the screen, grin spreading wide as his yellow teeth overtook most of the screen. “For our newest game. It’s to die for!”
The broadcast cut to an abrupt end just as a guffaw erupted from the Joker, and the back of Bruce’s mind could almost hear the man’s laughter echo in the car, surrounding him as he was reminded of the dire consequences that could be awaiting him.
The Joker had been quiet for months since his escape from Arkham. Far too quiet for whatever this was to be anything less than catastrophic.
A nearly silent click in his comms signaled someone dropping in to talk.
“Batman. Oracle filled me in. I can be at Amusement Mile in ten-” Tim began, but Bruce cut him off before he had the chance to finish.
“No.”
“No?”
It was not up for discussion. To say that Bruce was hesitant to allow Robin to face off against the Joker was an understatement. If he had it his way, the teen wouldn’t be allowed within twenty miles of Joker, but he knew those expectations were excessive. But seeing Robin in the same room as that man made him think of…it made him worry.
Robin was capable. He was Robin. He was trained by Bruce for longer than any before him; he had better, stronger armor than any before. He could handle himself. Knowing that made it so much harder to let him out into the field. He had thought Dick to be well-trained, capable of taking care of himself. That never stopped him from getting hurt. He had thought…he thought everyone under his care was well-trained. And still he failed again and again to stop them from getting hurt.
“I can do this, B. You know I can. What you don’t know, is what Joker has planned for you there.”
“You underestimate the Joker, Robin. You’re staying behind.”
“No, you underestimate me,” Tim retorted, and Bruce could tell he wasn’t going to back down. “I’m your partner. We’re supposed to be a team, to work together. We can’t do that if you’re not going to let me help.”
“You leave the second I tell you to, understand?” Bruce ordered, hesitant to relent. He hated the idea of Joker being anywhere near Robin, but he knew Tim was right. He needed to trust that he’d trained Tim well, and that it was best that they worked together. That being said, he was still set on sending Tim off the moment it got too dangerous. He trusted Tim. He did not trust the Joker.
“Of course.”
“I mean it, Robin,” Bruce insisted, picking up on the doubt in his tone. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”
“Comes with the job, doesn’t it?” Tim joked, but relented after a moment as if he could feel the glare that settled on Bruce’s expression. “But yes, I understand. See you in eight.”
Ignoring the implication that Tim was already on his way to Amusement Mile while being ordered to stay back, Bruce pressed the gas pedal to the floor. There was no chance he would let Robin face Joker on his own; he had to get there first. He trusted that Robin would stay behind, but there was no telling whether a trap awaited them there.
Minutes stretched on like hours as the streets of Gotham flew past, little more than a blur of bleak colors until they gave way to the decrepit expanse of Amusement Mile. As a flash of red rushed past his vision, Bruce knew that Robin had arrived.
“Have you narrowed down his location?” Tim asked, now trailing close behind Bruce as he walked into the fun park, constantly scanning his surroundings in search of anything out of place.
“Not yet,” he said, eyes never straying from the path he was on. “But I don’t doubt he’s somewhere in the fun house.
Tim nodded, like the deduction made sense, and followed him silently through Amusement Mile until they arrived at Joker’s Fun House.
Bruce opened the door to the fun house with caution, and Tim had several batarangs held tight, ready to face whatever lies beyond. For a moment, as the door creaked open, he thought there was nothing there at all. But a scan of the room revealed a single figure lurking on a raised ledge at the back of the room. He barely restrained a snarl as his eyes fell on the Joker.
“We meet again at last!” Joker cheered, throwing open his arms. His grin nearly faded upon seeing Robin beside Bruce; the corners of his mouth twitched into something close to a scowl before quickly returning to his typical saccharine smile. “I see you brought the brat. That’s alright. You bring your sidekick, I bring mine.”
Bruce narrowed his gaze, the only show of his mental gears turning as he tried to think what Joker could have up his sleeve. His first thought was that he was referring to Harley, but then Oracle’s voice started up in the open comms.
“I checked GCPD’s evidence lockup as you asked, but there’s nothing. There haven’t been any transports, in or out, logged since his breakout. The security didn’t show anything, either,” she said, sounding somewhat apologetic. Bruce had no doubt she was listening to Joker’s spiel as she began to talk again. “Harley is still locked in Arkham, too. I’ll keep digging, but you might have to find out first-hand what Joker’s newest toy is.”
He let out a quiet huff in acknowledgement, eyes never leaving the Joker, watching his every move, looking for some kind of signal, some sign of whatever game he’d brought the Batman here for.
“Oh, come on, you aren’t even going to guess?” Joker whined, giving a dramatic roll of his eyes. “I’ll give you a hint. If you get it right, I’ll only kill your sidekick. I’d offer to share mine, but you’ve had your fun. It’s Uncle Joker’s turn.”
“Robin. Get out of here. Now!” Bruce barked out, ignoring Joker as he turned to face Tim. Or rather, where Tim had stood. He whirled back around, clenching his fists as he glared at the man standing above him with a huge grin, looking delighted. Bruce had the creeping feeling that things were going exactly as Joker planned. “I’m not here for games, Joker. What have you done with Robin?”
“What have I done with Robin?” Joker echoed, stroking his chin with an exaggerated inquisitive expression on his face, before it turned to one of faux surprise. “Why, I must say I haven’t a clue where he is! My little sidekick dealt with him. You’ll have to make your guess and find him if you want the bird brat back.”
“What’s your clue, then?” Bruce asked, stalling for time to deduce where Tim had been taken, and who, exactly, had taken him.
“I thought you were a detective, Batsy! I already gave you your hint. The ball is in your court now.” Another roar of laughter erupted as Bruce thought back, replaying the Joker’s words in his mind.
I’ll only kill your sidekick. I’d offer to share mine, but you’ve had your fun. It’s Uncle Joker’s turn.
For a brief moment, Bruce almost allowed his mind to turn to the worst possibility. But no, he dismissed the thought just as quickly as it came to him. Because it wasn’t a possibility at all. He was dead. Bruce watched the footage back a thousand times. It wasn’t possible.
But who could it be then?
“I won’t play your game, Joker. You and I both know this night is only going to end one way. With you in handcuffs and on your way back to Arkham. You’re only stalling, prolonging the inevitable. Make tonight easier on yourself. Where’s Robin?”
“You’re talking an awful lot for someone with no idea where your little bird is, Batman,” Joker taunted, folding his arms over his chest with a grin. “Times ticking, if you want to keep this boy blunder alive, you’ll have to find him yourself. I’d be careful, though. My sidekick really isn’t a fan of you or your brat.”
Bruce scowled as Joker’s grinning face backed away until he was completely out of sight. He raised his grapple and fired, letting it wrap around a pipe near the ceiling and pull himself up. He let go as he reached the raised platform Joker had been standing on, and it was then he spotted the set of doors the man had no doubt escaped through. He was leading Bruce further into the building, alone.
For a moment, he ruminated once more on the game Joker was trying to play, and who he could have at his side. There have been no Arkham breakouts aside from the Joker’s that have gone unaccounted for, and no special weapons unless they were new. Except that wouldn’t align with the ‘hint’ Joker had given him. It’s Uncle Joker’s turn. An implication that whatever this was, Bruce once used it. Likely to defeat the Joker at one point or another.
But nothing was missing. Nothing was stolen or lost in transfer. Bruce was nothing if not methodical. He kept an extensive list of everything he’s used in his vigilante work; he would have noticed if something had gone missing. He especially would have noticed if something managed to find its way into Joker’s clutches.
It was likely a trap, but Robin could be in danger, so he didn’t allow himself to hesitate as he stepped through the set of doors and into the next room.
As he did, he found little in the way of anything notable—some kind of storage room holding all sorts of Joker’s equipment. A few televisions sat on the far wall, but there was no sign of Robin. No sign of Joker, either. Or this notorious ‘sidekick’ of his.
He took a few steps into the room, surveying it further as he did. Nothing here looked as though it had been used recently, so it was unlikely whatever Joker referred to was tucked away in one of the boxes.
“Batman!” Bruce’s head snapped in the direction of Tim’s voice, gaze settling on a pile of boxes stacked higher than the rest. He rushed over, discarding the pile with a swipe of his arm, letting the contents scatter carelessly across the floor.
Robin sat behind them, tied to a chair. He began to speak the moment Bruce pulled the cloth from around his mouth, before moving to untie the rope restraining him to the chair.
“He got me from behind,” Tim said, looking almost frantic, which made Bruce begin to worry. Robin’s domino mask was still secured to his face, and he seemed to be unharmed, so what was causing this panic? Did Joker get his hands on some fear toxin? No, he didn’t seem spooked enough for that to be the case.
Bruce paused. He got Robin from behind? He couldn’t have meant Joker; Bruce’s eyes never left the man until Robin had already been taken. Which only left one option. It meant this sidekick of Joker’s was a man, and Robin saw him. He opened his mouth to ask for more information at the same time it seemed that Tim was opening his to give it when they were both interrupted before they could start.
“No, no, no!” Joker snarled, though the smile never left his face, and the anger in his voice still sounded playful. “You can’t spoil the surprise! I worked so hard to fix him, you can’t ruin it right before the big reveal!”
“Time’s up, Joker.” Bruce turned from Robin to face Joker, fists clenched at his side.”You’re going to Arkham, and your little sidekick, too.”
“No-” Tim started from behind him, sounding urgent. Bruce almost asked what he meant when the Joker burst out into another fit of laughter, one louder than any he’d let out since the duo had arrived.
“See, my dear boy?” Joker turned over his shoulder, speaking to someone Bruce couldn’t see. “Now that he has Robin, he really doesn’t want you, does he? He wants to put you in Arkham! Why don’t you show Bats exactly what you think of him and his bird?”
Before Bruce had time to process the words, before he had the time to think through exactly what Joker was saying, a figure stepped out from behind Joker.
His eyes fell first on the handgun, trained first at Bruce, then shifting to Tim. The hand holding the gun was thin, frail. Malnourished. His eyes trailed up the arm and finally to the face.
The air in his lungs disappeared in an instant, as if it had all been sucked out. Bruce blinked, clenching his fists at his side, certain he’d missed Joker injecting him with something, or he’d gotten his hands on Scarecrow's fear gas, and the sensors in the cowl couldn’t detect it.
There had to be some explanation, some way his vision had been altered. He was hallucinating. He had to be.
The figure before him wore the face of Jason Todd, his dead son. Standing beside the Joker. Gun in his hand pointed straight at Tim’s head, eyes trained on Bruce with a look of nothing but hatred and anger on his face.
Bruce’s face twisted into a scowl as he turned to the Joker. What sort of sick joke was this? It wasn’t real. Jason was dead. He’d been dead for nearly a year. Whoever, whatever this was, it wasn’t his son. He didn’t know how Joker managed to pull off this imitation of Jason, but he didn’t care. Not right now. He couldn’t. Because if he did, he just might allow himself to believe the impossible, that Jason was alive. But he wasn’t, no matter how much he wished it weren’t true.
This figure was gaunt, and Bruce felt a hint of surprise that he was managing to stand at all in his state. He wore a bloody, torn, mangled Robin suit, and Bruce nearly grimaced at the detail, how accurate it was. He wondered for a brief, horrifying moment if Joker had stripped the suit from his son’s cooling corpse and placed it on this lookalike. Scars spilled out onto every patch of visible skin, but worst of all was the burn scar on his left cheek. On his cheek was a half-healed brand in the shape of a J.
“You don’t fool me, Joker,” Bruce growled, taking a step forward as his fists clenched at his side. The gun in the sidekick’s hand snapped to aim at him, and Bruce noted that the figure was just barely swaying on his feet. He was weak, no doubt due to the remnants of torture that lingered on his figure. “He’s dead.”
The snarl on the figure deepened, and he fired the gun. The bullet flew past just the edge of Bruce’s cowl, missing by barely a few centimeters. It wasn’t an accident. It was a warning shot. Joker’s grin somehow widened from where it stretched ear to ear as he stalked towards the figure wearing Jason’s face, setting a hand on his shoulder. The touch was surprisingly gentle to have come from the Joker, yet the sidekick flinched anyway. His eyes flashed with fear before they settled back on Bruce, and nothing but hatred remained.
“See, Jaybird?” Bruce felt his gut churn at the use of the nickname, and a traitorous voice in the back of his mind whispered that it could be true. That maybe, just maybe, Jason really was alive. But it wasn’t true, it couldn’t be. Bruce couldn’t let himself believe such a thing, couldn’t let himself fall into Joker’s trap. “He did this to you. Batman wished you were dead. He was happy to be rid of you. Look at those eyes. No warmth. How sad. He is so disappointed to see you alive.”
“Jason, it isn’t true! Joker’s lying to you!” Tim said, and it seemed as though he was entirely convinced it was really Jason. Whatever reaction Tim was hoping for, it didn’t come. Jason—no, not Jason, it isn’t Jason, he can’t let himself believe that—the figure’s face only flashed with anger.
“Shut up!” he snapped, pointing the gun back at Tim, and Bruce could see his finger tighten over the trigger, but he hesitated to pull it.
That voice…it was Jason’s. Strained, quiet, hoarse, but it sounded just like Jason.
Could it really…?
No. No, it couldn’t. Bruce watched Jason die. He watched his son die. His son was dead; there was no debate.
He saw it in a film. A film that Joker sent him. A film Joker could have manipulated.
“I watched you die,” he croaked, failing to reel in that quiet hint of desperation in his throat, the pleading desire for it to really be him.
“Liar!” Jason? He roared, voice cracking. He threw his head down, shaking it and muttering something Bruce couldn’t hear. The smile on Joker’s face flickered for just a moment before it returned at full force, the mischievous glint of an idea playing on his face.
“He wants you dead, Jason,” Joker cooed, gesturing out towards Bruce and Tim with his free hand, the other clasped tight on Jason’s shoulder. “Don’t you want to show him what it feels like? To suffer? To bleed? Take your revenge, Jason. Make Uncle J proud. Kill the Batman.”
Joker’s head tilted towards Bruce, looking nothing short of elated.
“If you want to stop him, you’ll have to kill him!” He made it sound as though he were speaking to Jason, but Bruce knew. He knew Joker was speaking to him. He wanted Bruce to kill Jason to save Tim’s life as well as his own. But Bruce wouldn’t. He couldn’t.
Jason’s eyes glazed over with something haunted, and it hurt to think what exactly could have happened to him to cause an expression so empty.
“Yes, sir,” Jason whispered, almost inaudible as he wrapped his other hand around the gun, securing his aim as shaking hands suddenly went still.
The barrel of the gun raised, pointed at Bruce’s chest. For a moment, he thought Jason was going to fire at the bat symbol, the most reinforced place on his armor. But then, suddenly, the aim shifted, a shot rang out, and Bruce was thrown back by the force of the shot.
Jason had shot in the narrow space between the plates of armor, one of the few vulnerabilities in his suit. Somehow, morbidly, it was in that moment that Bruce knew without a doubt in his mind that it was Jason. His Jason. No one but his Robin’s knew about his most vulnerable spots. Jason knew where to fire to cause the most damage.
“Batman!” Tim cried, immediately rushing forward to be at his side.
“Robin, don’t-” Bruce started, trying to tell him to get away, to apprehend the Joker, to not worry about him yet. But then the sound of another gunshot filled the air, and Bruce’s stomach dropped, waiting to watch Robin crumple.
But Robin was fine. Or, at least, seemed to be. He remained exactly where he was, only his attention bore into the space where Jason stood, where Bruce couldn’t see.
Another gunshot.
Another.
With every shot, Bruce feared he would see Tim get struck, feared he would see the bullet slice through him, feared he would have to mourn the loss of a Robin once more.
And yet, it appeared as though nothing at all happened to Tim as the bullets fired, again and again. He couldn’t take it; he had to know what was happening. He started to move up onto his elbows, to lift himself just enough to see the situation. Robin made a noise of surprise and moved to support Bruce, pressing a hand against the bullet wound. He winced at the sudden pressure, but said nothing, eyes glued to the scene before him.
Jason was standing over the crumpled form of the Joker. He fired the handgun again and again into the man, not stopping even as it was clear Joker had long since died from his injuries. The bullets came again and again, reverberating through Bruce as the sight of his dead son killing someone tore into him.
The sound of the gun firing ceased, followed by the click, click, click of a gun with no bullets left to fire. It continued for nearly a minute before Jason collapsed to his knees, the gun falling from his grasp. Silence filled the space for the briefest moment, and Bruce found himself entirely unsure of what to do. Until Jason’s jaw quivered and he struck the ground as if all his strength left him in an instant. He screamed, the sound ripping through Bruce with as much force as if another bullet had struck his chest.
Jason sounded as though his throat were tearing itself apart, breaking from the force of one too many cries.
Bruce tried to bring himself to his feet, to rush towards his son, to help him, though he ended up leaning on Tim for support as he walked towards Jason. Pain rippled from his wound with each step.
He avoided turning his gaze to the corpse at his right as he approached Jason, crouching down and placing a single hand on the boy’s cheek. His right, Bruce didn’t know if he could bear to touch the brand Joker had placed on his son.
Jason leaned into the touch, eyes closed as his face twisted into something agonized. The moment lasted for just that, a moment, before Jason’s eyes flew open, locking with Bruce’s. He jolted back, expression morphing back into the hatred he had seen before, and another scream escaped his throat, sounding somehow more damaged than the last.
Bruce recoiled as though the touch had burned, and he could hear a stifled gasp escape Tim. For the first time since Robin’s arm wrapped around his shoulders, Bruce wondered in that moment who was supporting whom.
Jason’s half-lidded eyes filled with tears as they slowly slid down his cheeks, dipping through the cracks and bends of the scars in his skin before dripping to the cold floor.
“Jason, my boy, I’m so sorry,” Bruce whispered, feeling tears of his own well in his eyes, threatening to fall. The words fell on deaf ears as it seemed Jason had passed out, slumped from what could only be exhaustion. “You can come home now.”