Chapter Text
Tim was so, so sick of vampires.
The Joker had him chained to a chair in a room starved of light, except for a single flickering bulb. It swung from the ceiling, illuminating one side of the room, then the other, casting long dark shadows across the walls. Tim could make out the vague suggestions of objects in the darkness, but he didn’t care to interpret what they were.
His gaze snagged instead on a darker shape in the corner, a chair set apart from the rest. Its outline was too upright, and as the light swung its way, he could make out a large brown box-like object seated on top of it.
He felt oddly drawn to the box.
His eyes snapped away so fast his vision blurred, his pulse stuttering painfully in his throat, because something deep and instinctive recoiled from it, for reasons he did not understand.
He forced himself to look at the vampire in front of him instead.
“Let me go,” he insisted through clenched teeth, “I won’t let you turn me into a vampire.”
The Joker snickered, tilting his head. “Turn you?” he echoed, “Oh, that’s rich. Why on earth would I want a fledgling chained to me for the next few hundred years? Do you have any idea how tedious that sounds?” His smile widened, stretching unnaturally across his pale face. “I don’t want to turn you, Tim.”
Tim’s brows drew together despite himself, because that was new. Every vampire who had taken him before had eventually circled back to the same idea: to twist him with their horrible curse. Even Crane, who had originally insisted he needed Tim purely for research, had in time begun speaking of transition as though it were the logical conclusion. A flicker of something dangerously close to unease crept down his spine, because if the Joker did not want him as progeny, then that left far fewer options, and none of them were survivable in the long term. As horrific as the idea of spending eternity as Crane’s reluctant lab assistant had been, he expected it would be far better than his fate here. He swallowed, careful to keep his uneasiness off of his face, he suspected that the man would enjoy seeing it. “What do you want me for, then?”
The Joker’s grin sharpened, “For my entertainment,” he replied, “And for food, of course. I’ve always been fond of the taste of human blood.”
Tim went very still.
For moral reasons, as the Wayne’s had explained to him, the vampire community swore off human blood a long time ago.
Joker, apparently, considered himself exempt.
He pictured days measured in pints drawn from his veins by sharp fangs, his body kept barely functional, barely conscious. He refused to let his fear show. “They’ll find me,” Tim said instead, lifting his chin defiantly “I’m the last human. Do you really think they won’t notice when I disappear? They’ll pour every last penny from the human-diplomacy fund into looking for me. And when they do, you’ll be screwed.”
The clowns smile widened, his dry skin splitting at the seams of his lips, causing flakes to fall to the ground. It looked like he had tried to extend his smile with a knife over and over again, against his own vampiric healing abilities, until he stopped healing there properly. With little tenderness, he gripped Tim’s face in a large, calloused hand. His palm reeked of old pus and rot, sour and sickly, causing him to gag. He squeezed, pressing Tim’s cheeks together until his lips puckered.
“You think you’re so special, don’t you?” he crooned.
“I am.” Tim snapped back. “At least to them.”
A large erupted from his cracked lips. It started out small, emerging from him in suppressed bubbles, until he threw his head back and cackled loudly. His laugh was jagged, and forced, and eventually sputtered out into wheezes as his throat struggled to keep up with his euphoria “Oh sweetheart, no. You only ‘became’ the last human very, very recently. Did you think you were smart for surviving this long?”
“What?” He whispered. The world around him slowed down. He couldn’t peel his eyes away from the vampires own blood-red ones. “What do you mean by that?”
“Blood makes vampires stronger, and I want to be the strongest. Or the strangest. Is there really much of a difference?” He shrugged, as though genuinely deliberating that “So I kept a few little humans on hand. Little pets all for me.”
“You…” Tim couldn’t keep up with his own thoughts. His eyes darted around as he tried to process that. “There are other humans?” Hope bloomed in his chest. “I’m not alone…?”
The joker howled, letting out a broken shrieking sound that caused the room to rattle “The hope in your eyes!” he gasped between wheezes. “Oh, I adore that. No, no, they grew dreadfully boring, so I disposed of them.” He leaned in close, breath hot and foul against Tim’s ear. “You won’t bore me, will you, Timmy? I can keep you alive a little longer.”
The room collapsed around him.
FIVE YEARS of isolation. Five years of aching for a friend. He could have had one, this entire time. There were humans alive, in his very city, and he didn’t even know about them. Everything he had been wishing for had been here. He could have had it all.
“When?” The word tore from his throat, leaving it sore. His voice cracked, and tears sprung to his eyes “When did you kill them?”
“When you surfaced. There they were, my little pets, stale as old bread. They never laughed at my jokes.” His grin sharpened. “Then you arrived. Pulling your little pranks, running away...” He clapped his hands once. “An upgrade.”
Tim screamed, a raw and primal reaction. He didn’t plan to, it ripped from his lungs and rang out with such force that the vampire winces. He crashed against the restraints, not suppressing his rage, until the metal caused his skin to tear, blood beading out onto his hands.
“Oh, can it,” the clown snapped, irritation flashing across his painted face. “I don’t like it when my food makes such ugly noises.”
“I’m not your food!” He hissed “They weren’t your food. They could have been my friends.” His eyes were wide, as he breathed heavily. He didn’t care that the vampire seemed amused by his reaction, he could no longer hold his composure. He let out a harsh bark, closing his eyes as he laughed “This whole time…” He sagged forward, bending into himself, until he was staring down at his own lap. His pants stained with tear drops. Eventually, he pulls himself together, tilting his head up. Through the curtains of his dark bangs, he glared. His voice steady, he whispers a promise. “You’re going to pay for this.”
It was so apart from his usual bantering tone, that it caused Joker to freeze for a moment, before his smile stretched out wide again, eyes glazing with fond reminiscence. “They all said that in the beginning.” Joker gestured around the room, which was covered in scattered belongings “Now, this is all that's left of them.”
Tim glanced around, his wobbly eyes taking in everything.
There was a doll in the corner. It caused a lump to form in his throat. Whoever it belonged to was far too young to be in the joker's grasp. He knew that every human had died, but he didn’t really think too deep into that; he didn’t like to think about all the families that had been lost.
There were other personal belongings strewn across the floor; a fancy handbag, a sketchbook with fading stickers adorning the cover, and a pair of shoes.
He didn’t want to keep looking, but he felt obligated to. This was all that was left of their legacy. He didn’t want to be just an object left on this earth, he wanted desperately to live, but he wouldn’t let their memory fade, either.
Then, his eyes finally landed on a chair.
The chair he had been subconsciously avoiding, the one tucked in a shadowed corner where the light dared not fully reach. It sat still, waiting for him, and on it rested a single, familiar box. Not a box, a briefcase, its leather edges worn and clasp tarnished. He knew those scratches. His mind had refused to see it before, had skimmed over it, but now the denial cracked. The chair seemed to loom taller, its legs impossibly rigid, its seat almost a maw cradling the briefcase, and the longer he stared, the more the rest of the room dimmed, funneling all his fear, all his dread, into that one waiting, patient object.
He let out a soft whimper. He wanted to look away. His mind was forcing him to keep staring, because he wasn’t sure he could accept it if he didn’t.
On the briefcase, two small letters were engraved onto the latch.
They were scrawled on in gold: J.D. Jack Drake.
Tim's voice was near silent. “That’s my dad’s briefcase...” He turned to stare up at the joker “You had him? This entire time, he was alive?”
The clown blinked, momentarily startled, before his eyes crinkled in manic glee “You’re related to Jack?” he gasped, clapping his hands together “Well, isn’t that poetic? Oh, he was marvelous, fought me to the bitter end.” His tongue darted out to wet his lips. “So stubborn. I hope you’ll be the same. The delicious apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
He wanted to throw up. This entire time, he could have had his DAD back.
They were never close, not really, Jack was always travelling for work and he hardly spared Tim a glance when he excitedly ran to him, showing off his assignment proudly with a big, toothy grin. But at the end of the world, when his work didn’t matter anymore, maybe they could have been. They could have fostered a relationship, the last two humans. Maybe the owner of that doll, and the handbag; the shoes and the sketchbook could have joined them. They could have formed a cute little gang, just them against the world.
Tim wanted his dad.
His mind drifted back to his memories of his father; the good and the bad. Sometimes, when he and his mother would come back home from an exhibition, jack would pull out a little crystal or a mini gift all for him. They were so small, but he treasured them dearly.
Then, he recalled the distance. He spent many sleepless nights wishing for a closer bond with his parents. He used to read books, and watch TV shows, pretending the adorably close families were his.
But he didn’t want those families right now. He wanted the rare family dinners, he wanted the distance, the normalcy of their routine.
He just wanted them back.
His squeezed his eyes shut, trying to drive the memories away, but he couldn’t. His brain was forcing him to acknowledge, for the first real time, that he lost his mum and dad for good.
They weren’t brilliant parents, but they were his. As a child, they used to take him on little trips to the beach so he could dig into the sand and look for fossils. They would coo, calling him their little archaeologist. Then, they would get him an ice cream bigger than his face, and he would giggle, as his mother wiped at his noise coated white from his messy eating.
Adrenaline roared through Tim’s veins, hot enough to make his vision sharpen at the edges. Every breath scraped his lungs raw. The chains bit deep into his wrists, iron grinding against bone as he twisted, braced his feet against the concrete floor, and pulled, the links groaned.
He yanked again, a strangled sound tearing from his throat. His skin split, and his blood slicked his hands. The metal shrieked, then snapped.
The recoil sent him stumbling forward as the broken chain whipped against the wall in a shower of scraps. For half a heartbeat, the room went still except for the ragged drag of his breathing.
Across the room, the Joker tilted his head.
“What,” he asked lightly, “are you doing? Go sit back down, boy.”
Tim straightened slowly. His shoulders rolled back. His eyes were hollow and flat. “No,” he said, voice low, a tremor in his hands. “I know I’m too late, but you’re never going to hurt anyone again, and that includes me.”
The Joker’s smile widened, stretching pale skin thin over sharp cheekbones. “You can’t do anything to me.” He spread his arms, pleased “I’m a vampire, I heal.”
Tim took a step forward
“I’m not trying to kill you,” he replied.
Then, he moved.
He crossed the distance in a blur, slamming into the Joker with enough force to send them both crack the tiles below them. They hit the floor with a loud bang, Tim on top, driving his fist into the vampire’s jaw before a new round of laughs could escape his cursed mouth.
The Joker let out a muffled taunt; “Go on, break me. I’ll just put myself back together. And when I do…” His eyes flashed crimson. “I’ll drain you dry. Just like dear old daddy.”
Tim felt around the inside vampires mouth. It was slick with spit. His fingers slid along wet enamel and swollen gums, until he found them: two sharp fangs, ridged near the base like barbed wire hooks so that his prey couldn’t push him off them. He wondered if his dad had tried.
The vampire snapped his jaws instinctively, and Tim felt the wind of it brush his knuckles. One inch closer and his fingers would have been severed.
Instead, he wedged his fingers around the fangs, pressing into the soft flesh where the toom was held on tightly by gum. He scratched at the tissue with his nails. The vampire made a strangled noise below him.
“I hate you.” He hissed.
Then, he pulled.
The fang held tightly to the gum, fused into his mouth. Then, a wet fibrous tearing sound. The gums split around his fingers, causing old cold blood to spill around Tim’s fingers. He pulled harder.
Finally, a pop. The fangs came free, and sat in his hands.
He panted.
“You think that will stop me?” Joker snorted. His voice was whistly from the two new teeth gaps. “I just told you I'll heal, I-” He stopped, lifting his hand to feel his gums. The blood had stopped pouring out, but they were still empty.
The human stood there, staring at him, cold. “You will heal, but that doesn’t mean your teeth will grow back.”
“You…” He growled, looking up harshly. Clear as day, his healed gums housed no teeth. “Oh, I'm going to kill you now. I’m going to tear you apart.” He stood up, whilst Tim remained still on the ground.
Oh god, he didn’t think about what came after the teeth, he had been driven by fear and anger. He usually planned further than this. Now, he had an angry vampire after him with no escape. No fangs, still dangerous. He scrambled backward, slamming hard into the wall. The impact knocked the air from his lungs in a sharp grunt. He curled in on instinct. Forearms shielding his throat. Knees drawn up to protect his ribs and stomach.
The vampire was approaching him, the smile slid off of his face. He wiped the dried blood off of his lips. “Come here, Tim.”
He shook his head, his eyes darting around as he looked for an escape.
There were none.
Tim shook his head, over and over, as if that alone could undo the situation. His gaze flew around the room, skimming over the briefcase. He couldn’t figure out a single way to use any of these objects to aid his escape. For once, he wasn’t smart enough to do this alone. “HELP!” The scream ripped out of him raw, cracking halfway through. “Help me!”
The word shot through the room.
“No one’s coming,” the vampire glared “We’re miles from anything.”
“They will,” Tim insisted, voice shaking so hard the words barely formed. “They’ll find me. They always do.”
“Just come here.”
He shook his head desperately.
“If I can’t drink your blood using my fangs,” he continued, tilting his head, “I’ll just have to open you up the old-fashioned way, won’t I, Ti-”
The rest of the sentence was cut off by a choked, wet gasp.
The Joker flew across the room with brutal force, limbs flailing once before he slammed into the far wall. He slid down it, leaving a dark smear behind him, and collapsed in a heap. He was unconscious. His skin had already begun to piece itself back together.
Tim stopped breathing. Arms circled his torso from behind, they felt strong. He gasped and tried to twist away, but the grip tightened.
Then, the adrenaline left his body. It must be Bruce. He must have come here to save him, he was lifted effortlessly to his feet. His legs barely worked, and the sudden shift made his vision swim. The warmth of another body pressed against his back, stabling him. Relief hit him harshly. He didn’t expect them to actually come. He leaned back into the chest behind him, trembling. He didn’t care if they turned him anymore, he just wanted to be safe and sound again. He leaned into their chest.
They let out a deep, amused chuckle.
Tim froze, turning his head back slowly.
That wasn’t Bruce.