Work Text:
Jason whimpered. His body was battered, bruised, bloody.
The screeching sound of metal on concrete clawed at his ears.
He forced his broken arms to move, drag him away, escape-
Pretty bird with broken wings. Big ole Batsy won't like you now. Flightless. Useless. Dead!
Jason tried to crawl faster, but all he could manage was a slow drag of his dead weight by broken arms and broken legs on the bloody concrete floor.
Cackling, haunting laughter followed him.
His arms spasmed and he collapsed in a defeated, fear-filled heap.
No one's coming to save you.
The Joker was back.
Jason made his decision as dawn broke, sun shining through the clouds. Injuries covered with less bandages than before, slowly healing.
By evening, it was dark and raining and his plan was set.
At midnight, there was another breakout at Arkham.
The next morning found him smoking on a rooftop, satisfied.
The first bullet tore through shoulder muscles.
The second, the knee.
A few steps forward and a crowbar shattered ribs; the body dropped. Swing after swing, bones shattered, blood spilled, body smashed.
Lastly, a boot took care of the face.
Jason grinned a bloody smile.
The Joker was dead.