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It was a disaster.
The Batcomputer had alerted them about Joker being spotted in Town Square’s Gotham Mall and they had immediately jumped to respond, suiting up. Bruce had ordered Jason and Tim to stay, which Jason was obviously angry about because he knew how to handle himself and he didn’t need a babysitter—least of all Tim.
But apparently, that wasn’t what Bruce had in mind.
“Jason,” he said, taking him to the side and holding his shoulders in a firm grip. “I’m not leaving you here with Tim, I’m leaving him with you. Tim cannot be allowed near the Joker.”
Jason scowled. “Why?”
Bruce winced, guilt flashing across his face. “I can’t explain. It’s not my place to say, but please look after him.”
Jason was half-convinced that Bruce was pulling a reverse psychology move on him and using Tim as an excuse, but when Dick pulled him aside and said the same thing—”Tim cannot be allowed near the Joker”, it got him suspicious and more than a little confused.
Why wasn’t Tim allowed to be near Joker? What, did he want to kill him too? Had he already killed him like Dick had and Bruce had brought him back to life yet again? But Dick was allowed near the Joker, so why not Tim?
Or… was there something else? Something he didn’t know, something horrible? Was it the other way around, had the Joker tried to kill Tim, and seeing the ex-Robin would send the madman into a frenzy? Surely not, Joker hadn’t ever been that mad after failing to kill someone. Not even this infuriating kid could annoy him that much.
Neither of the two explanations were plausible, so Jason simply sat, stewing in bitterness, anger, fear and confusion. So he did exactly what Bruce and Dick told him—kept an eye on Tim and nothing but an eye.
He didn’t stop him, as the kid pulled up the security feed surrounding the evacuated mall, didn’t stop him as he grabbed his suit when Joker inevitably managed to trap Batman, Nightwing and Robin, didn’t stop him as he clambered on his bike, preparing to leave.
“Bruce and Dick told me to keep you here,” he called, crossing his arms from the chair by the computer bay, as Tim started his bike.
“Are you going to?” Tim asked, grip tightening on the handles of his bike.
Jason considered. “No,” he decided. “I’m going to join you.” And so he put on his helmet, grabbed his own bike, and left with Tim without informing Alfred, since the old man would surely stop them from leaving if they did. Even if he did feel a bit bad about it.
So now, Jason was standing a few feet away from Joker, pointing a gun at his laughing head, with Batman, Nightwing and Robin tied up and surrounded by Joker’s goons. Joker held yet another bomb in his hand, primed and ready to go off at a moment’s notice, and for some bizarre reason, Jason couldn’t move.
Fear enveloped him and froze him in place at the sight of that pale skin and greasy green hair, the sound of that manic laughter and shrill, taunting voice. He couldn’t move his feet, they felt stuck to the floor like superglue, he couldn’t move his finger to press the trigger, he could barely move his lungs to draw a breath.
This was a bad idea. Shouldn’t he have learned from his previous mistake?
“What’s the matter, Reddie?” Joker sneered, opening his arms wide and giving him the perfect killing shot. “Gonna shoot me?”
Jason’s hand trembled, his heart jackrabbiting in his chest. He felt cold, adrenalin coursing through his body but useless against the paralysing fear that the mere sight of the ugly bastard in front of him brought.
Movement behind the Joker caught his eye.
Tim.
Red Robin stood right behind Joker, staff poised like a baseball bat, ready to strike and knock him out.
But just their luck, Jason wasn’t the only one who spotted him.
“Boss! Behind you!”
If he wasn’t paralyzed from fear, he would have shot the goon in the forehead, no-kill rule or not.
Joker immediately whirled around and grabbed Tim by the throat.
Tim choked and immediately tried to break out of the surprisingly strong hold with a blow to the elbow, but—
“Son?” Joker spoke.
Tim froze.
Jason frowned. The hell?
Joker dropped the bomb, letting it clatter against the ground. Jason tensed, expecting it to blow, but all it did was let out a weak beep and remained stationary.
“Son,” Joker repeated, a small smile on his face.
Jason turned to Bruce, searching for answers.
Bruce was slumping, limp in his captor’s arms and head down in resignation. Dick, conversely, was struggling, trying to break out of his captor’s hold and get to Tim. Damian was the only one who looked every bit as confused as Jason.
A choked sob turned their attention to Joker and Tim.
Tim, who had silent tears slipping down his cheeks under his mask. Tim, who was breathing in panicked, ragged gasps of breath. Tim, who looked absolutely broken and scared in Joker’s chokehold.
“Oh, son,” Joker crooned, pulling Tim close and trapping him in his arms (in a hug—). “How I missed you.”
Tim sobbed. And Jason realized…
Joker got to Tim too.
He got to Tim too.
Jason collapsed.
He couldn’t. He just couldn’t. The Joker won. He finally won.
He glanced up, numbness taking over his body in a wave, and saw the madman cradling Tim and shushing him as he cried.
“There, there.” He patted Tim’s head, a big (fond) grin on his face as he smoothed his hair. “Daddy’s got you. Daddy’s got you now, Junior. We can go away from the mean Batman and his dastardly mistreatment of his children. We can go far away and resume our fun again. You remember our fun, don’t you?”
“N— no,” Tim whispered. “Not— not agai—”
“Shhhh.” He put a finger to his lips. “Not another word now, love.” He looked up, taking in the sight of the captured Bats. His eyes landed on Jason on the floor and he scowled. “Why has no one tied up the holder of my stolen moniker yet?”
Two of the henchmen rushed towards him with zipties and rope, quickly pinning his arms to his back. Jason couldn’t move, couldn’t resist. His eyes and brain were stuck on the pale arms gripping his little brother in a cradling embrace.
“Red Hood,” Joker grinned once he was tied up. He held Tim closer to him, ignoring how the boy looked ready to split apart with how tense and wound up he was. “Say, former boy blunder, I bet Batsy didn’t tell you about my good news, did he?”
Jason glanced at Bruce again. The man was silent, watching Tim and Joker with a pained, dissociated look on his face.
Joker cradled Tim in his arms, holding him up by his waist and continuing to stroke his head. He smiled at Jason, a fake tear rolling down his cheek. “I got blessed with a beautiful baby boy.”
Tim flinched, his hands gripping Joker’s tightly, but not making any attempt to move him.
“You see,” Joker said, settling down on the floor and pulling Tim onto his lap, “When I saw this poor birdy all alone, away from its nest, I decided to take him in! He was feisty and refused to acknowledge me as his rightful daddy! Kept insisting that he belonged with a bat rather than a joker. But!” He paused his stroking and grabbed Tim’s jaw tightly, twisting his head towards him. “I managed to fix him. A little torture, electrocution and chemicals goes a long way, kiddos.”
What…? That… that sounded like… “What— what did you do?” Jason whispered, even though he did not want to know the answer.
Joker grinned at him, lips stretched wide. “I gave him some much needed therapy, boy blunder. Or… as you would call it…”
“Brainwashing,” Dick finished, an agonized look as he turned to Jason. “He brainwashed him and made him into Joker Junior. His son.”
Joker laughed, the cackling shriek echoing around the empty room, seeming to bounce and fold back in on itself as he continued.
He wiped a tear, finally calming down. “It didn’t work completely though, no,” he said, shaking his head. “But… I made sure that it would last.”
He pulled out a pocketknife.
“And I made absolutely sure, that when I needed my little Junior again, he would be ready to come crawling back to his papa.”
Joker stabbed the knife into Tim’s thigh. Jason could do nothing but watch.
Tim screamed, back arching in pain. His leg spurted blood around the knife stuck in it, gushing down his pants. He thrashed in Joker’s hold, but the madman held him still, shushing him again like a mother would to her upset baby.
Dick and Bruce lurched forward at the sound of Tim’s pain, struggling against their captors. Damian watched, wide-eyed.
Jason still couldn’t move. His heart seized, iron bands of fear clamping tight.
When Tim finally stopped screaming, his agonized shrieks falling to sobs, Joker grabbed his jaw again. Ignoring his pained whimper, he squeezed it and pulled his head towards him.
“Hello again, sonny,” Joker said giddily, stroking his hair in some facsimile of love. “Time to bring my Junior back from his vacation.”
Tim feebly pushed against him. “No, wait—” He gasped, pleading. Jason felt sick.
Joker dipped two fingers in the blood and, holding Tim still, he spread it across both sides of his lips, in a cheery Glasgow Smile.
Jason watched in horror as with every stroke Joker painted across Tim’s face, Tim became calmer and calmer, his thrashing and shaking slowed, and the light in his eyes became dimmer and dimmer.
By the end, a bloody, red smile was painted on his face, almost mirroring Joker’s own. Tim pressed his lips together and squeezed his eyes shut. His body trembled, shaking hard in Joker’s arms.
“Junior…” Joker cooed, eyes gleaming. “Time to open your eyes.”
Tim snapped his eyes open. He stared fearfully at Joker and shook his head.
“Give me a smile, Junior,” Joker said sweetly.
“Joker, no,” Bruce said weakly, straining against his bonds. “Don’t— don’t— not again—”
“Give me a smile,” Joker coaxed, ignoring Bruce.
Tim shook his head again more vigorously, his trembles increasing in intensity. He clamped a hand over his mouth, fingernails digging into his skin there.
Joker clicked his tongue. “Now, now, Junior. Remember what daddy said about being a party pooper?”
Tim flinched. His eyes watered and tears trailed out. “Please,” he said, voice muffled. It was heart-wrenchingly un-Tim-like, high and reedy, like a small child’s, dropping back down to Tim’s normal voice at the last second.
Joker snatched his wrist and pried it away.
“Let me g—” Tim bit down hard on his bottom lip, quivering like he was trying to keep something in.
He was shaking with silent sobs and fear, helpless in Joker’s arms, almost paralyzed with whatever the Joker had done to him.
Jason stared at his little brother.
Tim cannot be allowed near the Joker.
And now he was in his arms, bleeding and trembling with fear.
It was Jason’s fault.
He clenched his fists behind his back, the fear still paralyzing him, turning his vision a sickly pale red. Tim was in trouble, it was all Jason’s fault, and he couldn’t even twitch to escape and pull the trigger which would save them all.
His veins were cold, freezing him in place. If only he could get warm, he could kill the bastard who condemned his brother.
And it hit him. So simple, so easy. It flared up at the slightest provocation, it was almost second nature to avoid its white-hot rage, but now he needed it. He needed to channel the Lazarus Pit.
He needed the Pit’s fury. Needed it to save his brother and kill the bastard who’d done this to him.
He called on the feeling of hot, bubbling green anger but— He can’t. He feels exhausted—
NO! Something inside him reared up and shrieked, fanning the embers of the Pit. GET UP!
Bruce was struggling violently and Dick was fiddling with his bindings, casting anxious glances at the Joker and Tim.
Jason focused despite the rising panic, recalling the feeling of the Pit in his stomach and chest, trying to bring it up again.
“Oh, Junior,” Joker just then sighed. “I can see you trying to break out, to meet daddy. Maybe… you need a little reminder.” He pulled out the knife from his leg, and Tim screamed, the terrible sound twisting away, getting higher and higher, until it turned into a weak, shrill half-giggle.
Jason snapped.
The Pit inside him roared and Jason screamed, snapping the zipties and ropes. The henchmen around him immediately tried to push him down, but Jason fought wildly, knocking them both out with a few barely-directed punches. The green in his vision intensified, staining everything in sight.
Tim, on seeing Jason writhing, started to struggle, trying to slip away from Joker’s arms.
But Joker frowned, his smile dropping. “I don’t like that,” he stated. And he pressed the knife to Tim’s throat.
Jason brought out his other gun, that the idiots thankfully hadn’t thought to look for, and aimed it back at Joker.
Tim’s eyes widened, more at Jason than the knife. “Jas—” Tim started, but Joker shifted the knife to his lips, resting the blade between them, threatening to make that Glasgow smile permanent.
“Shhhh,” Joker said. “I don’t expect you to be a good protégé, but I do expect you to be a good son, Junior.”
Tim shook as he suppressed a sob.
“Let him go,” Jason growled, watching the duo—the Joker and his hostage, over the sights of his gun
“Can’t,” the madman sing-songed. “He’s my son.”
Jason’s hand trembled. “He’s not your fucking son, let him go.” Adjusting his sights one final time, he breathed, unblinking, then squeezed the trigger. The bullet whistled, and—
Joker moved. The bullet lodged itself into the pillar behind him.
Suddenly, Joker cackled, the laugh again echoing around the space. His shaking laughter made the knife between Tim’s lips move, and blood started to slowly stain the boy’s lips red. Tim shook harder, tears streaming down his face.
“You could have so easily hit Junior,” Joker wheezed. “Maybe I should let you, next time.”
Jason felt sick. His finger hovered above the trigger again, just waiting.
Attention back on Tim, Joker removed the knife and pinched the side of his neck a little with it.
Tim stilled.
“Go ahead, sonny,” Joker crooned. “Go on and give that smile. Or daddy will have to start sending you to therapy again.”
Tim whimpered. “C— can’t—”
“Oh, what’s stopping you?” Joker sighed. “I remember when you used to be so compliant. So eager to please. Did old Batsy get to you again? Did he tell you all those lies and fantasies about family?”
He gripped Tim’s jaw and forced him to face him.
“I’m your real family, Timmy,” he growled, somehow delighted and demanding at the same time. “I’m your only daddy.”
Pull the trigger, Jason urged himself. Pull it. His hand shook harder.
“And you’re really starting to piss daddy off, Junior. If you’re not careful, I might do something horrible to your supposed-to-be estranged family. So do as I say and SMILE.”
Tim closed his eyes. His chest, rapidly flying up and down with his breaths, slowed. His hands—gripping Joker’s—loosened and his body went completely limp in his arms.
Then, his lips slowly stretched, lifting up, up, up. The red around and on his lips stretched with it, till the blood was reaching his ears. And just like that, Joker Junior smiled.
“Papa,” he said feebly, voice quivering.
Joker’s eyes gleamed. “Now… give me a laugh.”
He did.
His laugh was different to Joker’s. Much higher, more manic, more jagged, more broken. His laugh was pitchy, hiccupping and fragmented. It almost sounded like crying. It was ugly, spasmodic and without hope.
It was terrifying. And it was scared.
In the corner, Bruce let out an audible sob, bowing his head. Dick was staring, open-mouthed, tears dripping onto the floor.
Joker Junior laughed and Joker laughed with him. Their voices bouncing and echoing off the walls and ringing heavily in Jason’s ears.
Jason couldn’t breathe. His vision narrowed, the only thing he could see was the two pale faces in front of him, with matching red lips. The Pit rage that had been keeping him standing retreated at the terrible sound, his knees giving way. Something metal hit the ground with a sharp clunk, but he couldn’t focus on that, the dreaded laughter forcing him down, and keeping him there.
“Good boy,” Joker patted Tim’s head. Gently, he placed the laughing boy beside him, finally releasing him from his arms and depositing him on the floor. “Kneel there for daddy. I just have to go fetch something.”
Tim obeyed. He sat up and, despite the bleeding and obviously painful wound in his leg. He was giggling, sporadic and unsettling. He smiled wide, but it didn’t quite reach his teary eyes.
Joker hummed as he scanned the broken surroundings around them. Spotting something on the floor, he smiled widely and bent to pick it up.
He held up the steel bar. “Do you think this will do, Red Hood?” he asked.
He hit the rod against his hand and Jason flinched.
Joker grinned, “Yes, I think it will.”
He moved closer to him and Jason felt his heart rise up to his throat. He whimpered, but his body just refused. To. Move.
“Say, former bird brains,” he hummed. “You never did give me an answer that night… Was it A that hurt more… or B?” He tapped the rod, eyes shining with glee. “I think we should find out.”
“No!” Junio— Tim shrieked.
Joker whirled around, anger burning in his face. “No talking,” he snarled. “Junior… you are on very thin ice right now.”
Tim swallowed, closing his eyes. A loud giggle burst out of him and he opened them again. “S— sorry, papa,” he jabbered. “I’ve g— grown unused to being y— your J— Junior.”
“Hmmm, it has been rather long, hasn’t it?” Joker tapped his chin. He strode towards Junior, swinging the rod around testily. “What say we get you used to it again?”
A chortle—or a sob—spilled out of him.
“I have a brilliant idea, bird boy.” He turned to Jason, gripping the rod in his hands tightly. “What do you say we relive some memories? Take a nice old nostalgic walk down the memory lane?”
“No!” Bruce and Dick shouted at the same time.
Joker ignored them again and faced Tim. “I think, and former Bird Wonder here will agree, I think you should decide, Junior. What hurts more?”
He swung the rod and it collided with Tim’s head, throwing him to the floor. He giggled weakly.
“A?”
He brought the crowbar down, slamming it hard into Tim’s thigh wound.
“Or B?”
The metal collided with his ribs.
“Forehand?”
It struck his back.
“Or backhand?”
Jason could do nothing but watch. He should be up, he should be fighting, he should have gotten them out of the situation, he never should have let Tim leave in the first place. Someone, two voices, screamed, but they were all but drowned out by the damned laughter.
It was too much. It was too much. He didn’t want this. He never wanted this. The Joker got to everyone in his family.
He got to Bruce ages ago. He got to Jason by killing him brutally. He got to Tim by torturing him and brainwashing him into becoming his son. He got to Dick by getting him to coat his hands red with his blood. And he got to—
Jason suddenly stopped.
Damian.
The Joker hadn’t gotten Damian.
Now that he thought about it… he hadn’t seen Damian at all for quite a while. He wasn’t with Dick or Bruce. Where was—
A sudden boom from above caused him to scramble back on instinct as one of the mall’s giant light fixture came crashing down, sending debris and dust flying through the air
A blur made its way past him as he coughed, and a sickening sound, just like a crowbar hitting flesh, resounded in the air.
Jason quickly gathered his bearings and straightened up to see Damian holding an actual crowbar in front of the Joker.
“You are… pathetic,” Damian spat, standing protectively in front of a giggling-sobbing-laughing Tim. He loomed over the Joker who was wiping the blood leaking from his nose.
“Wait till I get my hands on you too,” Joker snarled.
Damian tutted and swung the crowbar again, hitting the clown square in the chest.
His senses and the Pit rage snapping back and the panic mercifully receding at Damian’s presence, Jason quickly scrambled towards Tim, who was staring in shock and giggling-crying muffledly at the two of them.
Jason curled over him, blocking his vision from the sight and taking care not to jostle his injuries as he held him, whispering reassurances. “It’s okay, Timbo. It’s okay, we’re here, he can’t hurt you any more, you aren’t his. You’re ours, you’re Timothy Jackson Drake, and you’re a badass. He can’t hurt you now.”
Slowly, Tim wrapped his arms around him, trembling and weak.
“ROBIN!” Bruce shouted, struggling valiantly against Joker’s henchmen, Dick doing the same.
They’re still trapped, Jason realized.
He took Tim in his arms gently and set him down behind a pillar, facing away from Damian and Joker. Tim rocked side to side gently, hiccuping a little from scared laughter.
Making sure he was alright there, he then went to where Bruce and Dick are tied.
The untrained goons were simple to take out, just a ferocious punch to the side of the head freed Dick, then he launched at the goon holding Bruce, toppling him with bodyweight.
“Thanks,” Dick gasped, wiping the tear-sticky dust off his face. “Thanks, Jay.”
Bruce pulled him into a tight hug, chest shaking underneath the armour. He let go after a second, but it settled something within Jason.
Dick surveyed the damage. “Damian.” He sighed.
“Damian!” Bruce yelped, the three springing forward to pull the tiny figure off the very-much injured clown.
But it was too late, the damage was done.
Dick pulled Damian away and Damian let him.
Bruce grabbed him, looking him over frantically for injuries. “What were you thinking?” he yelled.
The Joker coughed.
They all turned to him and the man laughed amidst coughs. “Heh— heh. That— that w’s a g— good joke.”
Jason gulped as the madman kept laughing and his voice grew weaker and weaker. Blood flowed from the open wounds Damian caused and his body spasmed with each chortle.Every few breaths, he groaned, breathing slowing.
No one moved. Not even Bruce.
And a few moments later, the laughter was replaced by silence.
After a moment, Bruce turned, admonishment on his face, but Jason held out a hand.
“Damian–” Bruce sighed. Damian rolled his eyes.
“Father, I have killed many people before. My soul is already stained with deaths, I am just glad this… thing—” Damian paused, delivering one final kick to the body, “—will not hurt any more of my family. However, I am sorry for breaking your rule. I hope you will forgive me, but I did it to stop this filth from tearing my family apart.”
Bruce stared at Damian for one long moment, studying his youngest son’s face and his heaving chest, with an indescribable mix of emotions.
“Yes.” He broke off, exhaling sharply. “What you did… was morally wrong, and against the rule. But, there’s nothing to forgive, Damian, I—” He rushed forward, enveloping Damian in a tight hug, one which was quickly returned. “Just— please.” He said after a moment, pulling back just enough to not muffle his words in Damian’s dusty hair. “Please don’t ever do that again.”
“I just want my family alive and safe.” Damian whispered, collapsing further into the hug.
Jason, heart slowing for the first time in what felt like hours, exhaled in relief.
His heartrate picked up again, when Dick gasped “Tim!”
Almost on instinct, he turned and sprinted towards the pillar where he’d stashed Tim just before.
Thankfully, he was still there.
However fast he ran, Bruce was faster, collapsing at Tim’s side before Jason had even stopped, cradling the young teenager tenderly.
He opened his eyes, and Jason’s heart stuttered in its beat.
They were still glassy, unfocused.
Bruce gathered the boy in a tight hug, mindful of the many crush injuries.
Tim whispered, hoarsely, voice still reedy and high, but mercifully dropping, as Dick and Jason dropped in to join the hug, “I’m sorry.” Jason winced at the rasp in his voice. “I brought him back. I didn’t want to, but papa— J— Joker was going to kill you. So I brought him back. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Bruce whispered, shifting to cradle Tim’s upper body. “He’s gone now, we’re all alive and he can’t hurt us anymore.”
Tim smiled, but it felt like more of a grimace. More blood trickled from the Glasgow smile. His eyes, now less glassy, started drifting around, disassociating. They waited, nobody willing to move, lest the clown inside him wake up, or the boy be frightened.
After a moment, Tim’s roving eyes landed on Jason and Damian, focusing on their faces. “Hug.” He said softly, beckoning them in with one arm. “Join us.”
Jason hesitated, but folded, crouching down beside Tim’s legs and leaning against Bruce.
Damian, however, didn’t. He grimaced, looking out of place and guilty as he tapped his wrist computer. “I should really go call for help. Dr Thompkins—”
“Damian.” Tim said softly, voice on the verge of cracking. “Just— please.”
Damian folded, settling down beside Dick.
Tim’s breathing seemed to get stronger, deeper, until Dick shifted, and started stroking his hair.
He didn’t notice, at first, the chuckling wheeze. Tim coughed a few times, and tried to lift his arm to bat Dick’s hand away, but Dick didn’t stop in time.
“Dick— no.” Tim gasped as the laughter bubbled up and he pushed it back down. “No— stop. Joker did the same— Junior’s tr— trying to come ou—”
Dick flinched back, a flurry of apologies spilling out. “Fuck, I’m so sorry Tim, I didn’t—”
He was interrupted by more jagged, broken laughter, this time scared and panicked. Tears began to bubble out of Tim’s screwed shut eyes, and he curled further in on himself, letting out a weak scream when his broken ribs audibly crunched.
He started moving, twisting this way and that, trying his hardest to muffle the laughter and screaming, but only getting louder, until Jason had a brainwave.
“Tim!” he yelped, dodging a flailing arm. “He’s dead! I swear, he’s dead. Joker’s dead, he can’t laugh anymore, he can’t hurt you, he’s dead. Damian ki– He was beaten to death with a crowbar, and I swear his lungs were punctured. No more laughter! He’s gone, he’s gone and he can’t hurt you!”
As more and more words spilled out, Tim slowed, cracking open one eye. No longer glassy, no longer disassociating, more Tim-ish than he’d been since they arrived. “He’s really dead?”
Jason nodded, in what he hoped was a reassuring way. “He’s gone, and there’s no coming back.”
Tim began crying again, but this time, it wasn’t high pitched. He stopped writhing, and simply curled into Bruce.
“You’re okay, sweetheart.” Bruce reassured, pressing a kiss to Tim’s forehead. “It’s okay. He’s gone, and he’s not coming back. We’re alright.”
And maybe they would be. It didn’t feel like it now, but with the Joker gone, he knew that this time… they would finally be completely alright.