Chapter Text
The warehouse could be best described as a gory mess.
Batman looks at the silhouette lying in the centre, lying in the pool of blood. Slowly, he strides towards it, knowing well enough that the person could not be saved anymore. That is, if the splattered white bits near their head meant something.
Turning on the night vision in his cowl, he sees the familiar face. Joker. Lying dead with that smile of his, like even his death was a victory that he achieved alone. The sticky note had almost camouflaged itself with his vest.
Try resuscitating
him now, Bruce.
It read.
"—tman! Batman, do you copy?" The voice echoed from the other side through the earpiece.
"Oracle." He acknowledges.
"Batman," She huffs. "Why haven't you been responding?" She stresses. "Red Hood and Orphan are on their way."
"I didn't hear, sorry." He says, voice gravelly. "Tell them to retreat for now." They don't have to witness this goes unsaid. "I can handle this."
"...okay," she says after a long pause. "I have informed them."
"Batman, is your sudden but not unusual silence something we should be concerned about?" Nightwing asks.
"Yes," he peels off the green sticky note, trying to recognise the writing. "Joker...he is dead."
◇◇◇◇◇
Batman swung off the building with the help of his grapple gun. The alley was quiet as ever.
"Stop." He grunted to the boy who limped in front of him, using the wall for support with each step, and using the other to press on his abdomen. Behind him came Nightwing, Spoiler, and Red Robin. The other four were still on their way.
The boy stopped in his tracks, turning around with slow precision, staggering on his two feet. Batman sucks in a breath after looking at the battered state of the boy. The neck was bruised red, meaning it was new. The left side of the face was covered in his blood, perhaps his own. He couldn't tell since his forehead was covered with bangs. The wound on his abdomen kept oozing blood between his fingers.
His instincts told him to reach for the boy; maybe he was similar to Tim, who had just figured out his identity out of extreme obsession and wits. But the rage he held for Joker that once Jason did was distressing.
Still, he took a few steps forward. "Was it you?" He stood a or two meters away from him now.
He stared at him blankly, trying to assess his statement. "Yeah," he finally rasped, cocking his head. "So?"
◇◇◇◇◇
When Nightwing had seen the scene in the warehouse, he had expected it to be a kind of civil war among criminals, or an adult driven by revenge. Not this. Not a kid near the age of Jason—or, if the blood is adding years to his face—Tim. Not this brutal assault. Maybe he was only defending himself against Joker. But then, who had left the note?
Batman leapt for the kid when he went limp. He held him close, cradling his head. Nightwing wondered if the other two could feel the regret Batman felt, the shame and guilt for failing a child to this accursed world. Again.
"...live," Batman whispered.
"What?" Spoiler uttered.
"He's alive. Red Robin, get him to the nearest hospital. Then to the mansion the moment he's stable."
"Me?" Red Robin asks, baffled.
"Yeah, Batman," Nightwing tries to reason. "Let me handle this."
"No, he carries the limp boy in his arms. Nightwing thinks this must be reminding Batman of Jason. "I need you in the warehouse."
"And me?" Spoiler asks, concerned at the state of the supposed—accepted killer of the biggest criminal of Gotham.
"Assist Red Robin."