a jape

Life was a joke.

Sometimes it occurred to him that he could stop it all whenever he wanted to. No one would care. It would be so funny, he'd tell himself, the cold bite of steel against his white throat. Everyone would laugh. Everyone would be in hysterics. It would be so funny.

He remembered what he had been like before. So serious! That had been the first thing to go. He remembered how awful it felt at first, the unnatural laughter that bubbled in his chest, tearing from his throat in harsh, broken syllables. He remembered crying, because he could not breathe, and everything was too bright, and too heavy, and the only thing he heard was the ricochet of his laughter off empty walls. That was funny.

He welcomed it now, though. How could he not? It was as easy as breathing! Though… breathing wasn't so easy, now that he thought about it. It hurt a lot. But that was okay! It was just another part of living. A great punch line to the best joke. Wasn't it funny? Wasn't it? He thought so.

Sometimes he thought of his brother. The one who wouldn't look at him, the vapid, selfish boy who could not stand to be in the same room as him. He had been funny once. What had happened to him? He had been a smiler, all cocky and bright, too bright, like a stupid little star. Now he only frowned, and that was so annoying, like, could he at least pretend to be amused? He was trying so hard here, and no one was laughing!

He could make them laugh, though.

And he did.

It wasn't as funny as he'd hoped.

He went on. Their lack of humor didn't bother him all that much. He would show them all. He would choke his screams with laughter, and never cry again. It wasn't funny, it wasn't, it wasn't— but he couldn't let him know he thought like that.

Sometimes he just watched them.

He saw them smile, their bodies slack with leisure and life, and that made his smile falter. Of course, the smile would always be there, whether he wanted it to be or not. It was there. It was always, always there, etched across his cheeks in messy stitching and pink tissue. He reached for them, but when he looked at his hands, he saw only sickly gray bones, and fleshy scars, and he recoiled into himself. They didn't want him. They never wanted him. He was a replacement for a dead boy, and they never wanted him there.

He perched himself above the city, his knees tucked against his chest, and all of his weight rested on his toes. He felt like a bird again, which made his throat constrict, and he chomped down on his lower lip to keep it from trembling. He wasn't a bird, he wasn't anyone, he was a jester, and fool's fool, a monster in mottle. The only red he wore was the blood of the little courtiers he played for, and his cape was one of despondency. He was no bird. He was a marionette, dancing on strings, and he wished and wished for someone, anyone, Beetle, Impulse, BB… someone, anyone… to cut him free.

But no one wanted him. No one but the gaunt clown who had mutilated him, given him a smile that would never fade, and that was why he never questioned it. They did not want him back. They were glad to be rid of him. After all, he wasn't supposed to be there. The boy wonder they wanted was dead. The boy wonder they had was dead too. He thought that was sad, but he didn't want to admit it.

The Bats were so careful to keep the Team from him. That was silly. He told the Joker as much.

"Oooh!" His crazed eyes grew wide as he peered at his toy, his wormy lips twisting into his signature grin. "JJ, you've got it! The Batsy tries to keep the kiddies from us! Say, we should pay them a visit from their ol' Uncle J and cousin JJ…"

He agreed, his smile wide and stretching far across his face. He wanted to see them again. He wanted them to see him, see what had become of the weak, pitiful Robin of theirs. But… if he were to tell it true, he would object. He would not smile, or laugh, or joke, because part of him was terrified. They would think him a broken bird who no longer sang, and they would trip on his knife if they got too close. That was what the Joker wanted. Joker Junior wanted nothing more than salvation.

But he lied through his teeth, and chirped the Joker's song like a proper little caged bird, because what else could he do? He had nothing left to live for. He had thought once, a very long time ago, that Batman would come if he had been in trouble. Time had passed, and the torture had not ceased, and finally Tim Drake had realized something. Batman was not coming. He had abandoned him, left him to die.

Like poor Jason Todd before him, Tim Drake fell prey to the Joker's whims. Only Tim was not so lucky as to be killed. No, the Joker kept him alive, and as time melted away from the young Robin, life became clear. It was all a jest, or nothing. His mouth had tasted of nothing then but salty tears and acrid blood, and his own uncontrollable laughter as it rolled from his tongue as erratic as crashing waves.

The Team had not recognized him. That did not surprise him. He looked nothing like the boy they had trained with, placed their trust in, and tried so desperately to protect. Vainly, the silly courtiers. Who protected a fool? No knights of Gotham. No one could protect the jesters and the world both. The little bird in the sky fell so long ago, perhaps they had forgotten all about him.

"Hey…" Cassie said, her eyes flitting between the Joker and his pet. Jaime was stiff beside her, his mouth open in horror. "When did the Joker get a kid, exactly?"

He had laughed at that. He wanted to grab her by her neck and throttle her, but would never hold her now. She was stronger than him, and he knew better. All he had to do was wait for her to come to him. She would laugh too. That was how it worked, wasn't it? Did it matter?

"Look it, JJ!" The Joke shrieked, reaching out and snatching him by the shoulder. He squeezed, his spindly fingers digging into him, and it took a lot for him not to waver as the cold memories of knives and skin and bony fingers and pulses of electricity filled his battered mind. "The kiddies don't remember you! See, I told ya so, they don't care about ya one bit. Batsy doesn't either, and not bitty Boy Blunder numeral uno. Nope, pumpkin, it's just you and me. Us Jokers gotta stick together."

"Yes," Tim Drake agreed breathlessly. Whatever bit of sanity he was holding on to slipped through his fingers, and he smiled ruefully. He wished he could go back in time and put himself between a gun and his father's head. He wished he had never met Bruce Wayne. He wished that Dick Grayson had died that night at the circus, while a four-year-old Tim Drake watched in horror as he plummeted to the ground. He wished Jason Todd had lived through the Joker's torment, so he could have told Tim first hand how despicable he was.

"What…?" Wonder Girl's eyes narrowed between them, and Blue Beetle swore softly beside her.

"Mierda," Blue Beetle gasped, his yellow eyes going wide with disgust and horror and disbelief. "Robin?"

No, Tim thought, his body reacting without his consent, zipping through the air with a knife appearing in hand. Not Robin, not ever. I'm nothing to you, I'm nothing, I'm not! He laughed all the way, his limbs jerking unsteadily as he slashed at Jaime Reyes, listening to the blade screech against the blue armor. Tears were in his eyes, but he ignored them.

It had been like this with Nightwing too. But Nightwing had beat him easily, and the Joker had whisked him away again before Tim Drake could be so much as lectured by the older boy. Now Tim saw. Dick had never cared for him. How could he, when all his purpose served was to fill the void left by a brash, loud-mouthed dead boy? He was nothing but a reminder of the sibling that he had lost. He had never been Robin, not truly, not when Jason Todd had been so much better, so much more loved, Jason, Jason, Jason…

No on talked about Jason, though. Tim did not know if Jason had been a better Robin. Tim didn't know if he had ever been Robin at all.

He found himself screaming. He could not flip like he had before, but he still slipped between them with ease, his knife finding itself slicing at the skin of Wonder Girl's arms. It didn't faze her much, but the fear in her eyes made his laughter rise and churn and flip and fall and— oh, god, what was he doing, what was he doing?

He didn't know how long he fought them. It wasn't even fighting, it was just him moving erratically between Blue Beetle and Wonder Girl and eventually Impulse… where did he come from? Did that matter? Bart had been funny. Now he was a big colorful mess of shock and blur and sadness. Beast Boy came too. Was Tim going to fight his entire old Team? He could hear the Joker's hysterical laughter as he watched, an emperor above the coliseum, and Tim just wished he would shut up, because he was so tired of hearing laughter, he just wanted to go home. But he had no home. The Joker was home.

But the Joker was also hell.

I'm not even trying, Tim realized, dismayed by how little he was actually putting into this fight. He just weaved between his old friends, and attacked the ones least likely to get hurt. He felt Beast Boy's talons on his cheek, the sharp talons of a hawk that clawed at his already scarred cheeks, tearing the skin from bone, and blood spilt into his left eye. He did not falter. I could kill them all. Why don't I? I should. I want to. No. No, no, no, no, no, no, nonoNONONO—

He stopped. He laughed. He let them grab him and slam him against the ground. He didn't want to laugh anymore. It wasn't funny anymore— was it going to hurt anymore?

He didn't know anymore.

"Batgirl! The Joker!" Cassie cried, her knee digging into his back as he laughed at her, his bloody cheek scratching against the pavement. Barbara was here? Barbara, Barbara! He laughed at that, though he wasn't sure why. The Joker had never asked for her name. He had never asked for anyone's name. He wanted nothing more than Tim's presence, and for Tim's blood, and for Tim's complete and utter complacency.

He had gotten it all. And more.

"Ha ha," Tim rasped. "Oooh, nooo… Did he get awaaaay again? Figures! Ha ha! He always does! Always, always…"

"Robin…"

"Oh, hush!" Tim cackled, blood in his eyes, and in his mouth, and he felt his very soul ooze red. Everything tasted metallic and dirty, and he reached out his fingers dragging against the concrete, his skin ripping against it and leaving trails of red across the pale stone. He hated her, he decided. She should kill him for that.

There were so many people around him now, he felt nausea turn in his stomach, rising up with bile and laughter, and he spat a mixture spittle and stomach acid and blood at Superboy's feet, grinning a terrible red grin as he dragged his crimson finger across the pavement. Blood was the perfect paint, Joker always said. He'd been right.

That thought made him scream.

The world was dripping vermillion and crimson and scarlet and burgundy and garnet. He kept laughing until he was pulled into a sitting position, and his head lolled, his laughs and screams melting into sobs, and he gasped, tears dripping from his eyes, and he could not stop them no matter how hard he tried. His chest hurt, and he screamed more, his body racking with sobs, and he shook his head, pushing at the body that had pulled him from Cassie's deathly grip, and he wished, wished, wished…

"Nightwing…" Barbara's voice cracked somewhere beneath the hysterical shrieking of his, and the fear in her voice only made him fight more, his face staining the bright blue bird insignia a wretched red.

"Everyone get back to the bio-ship." Nightwing's command was nearly lost on Tim, who nearly got his bloody fingers around the elder boy's scrawny neck…

"But—!"

"Now."

And then there was one. Tim pushed at his chest, throwing his head back and letting his screams pierce through the night, and somewhere between his howling and sobbing, laughter would slip through, shaking him to his very core. Dick didn't care, not at all, if he cared… if he cared he would just slide the tip of a batarang across his throat, and be done with it! Holding him would do nothing! It made his skin crawl, and he wanted to tear it all off, just as the Joker… just as he had always threatened to, and tried to, and Tim screamed then as he screamed now…

No one heard. Where was Bruce? Oh yeah. Gone.

"Tim," Dick said softly, and Tim's entire body went limp. He still screamed, but he found he could no longer fight. His lungs were aflame as he heaved, his fingers no longer itching to squeeze Nightwing's neck until his face turned mauve and his head popped like a balloon. "You don't have to be afraid anymore, okay?"

Tim unraveled against Dick's chest, his shredded fingertips latching onto his black uniform, and he held tight, gasping for breath and letting the tears roll ceaselessly against his scarred cheeks. He didn't want this. He didn't want anyone to touch him, or to care about him, or to hold him, but here he was, clutching Dick as if he was the only thing keeping Tim alive, and he could not stand it, because no one cared, why should they, why…?

After hours, hours, minutes, seconds, life times… Tim could not breathe anymore. He felt lightheaded, and he shook against Dick's chest, his forehead pressing against the bloodstained blue bird, and he felt himself being lifted up, but he didn't care. He couldn't breathe, or speak, but that didn't matter, because he felt warm. For the first time in forever, Tim felt the warmth of another human, and it didn't hurt, or make his skin itch, and he was so, so grateful.

"Let's go home, Tim," Dick murmured into his green tainted hair. Tim felt himself break, and shatter into a million pieces.

"Please…" he gasped. He looked up, and he saw Dick's eyes. He had taken off his mask. Why…? The depths of the blue allowed Tim to drown in a relief, and a comfort, and though he felt like he was about to burst at the seams, he simply could not bother to distress. Nothing was funny. He simply stared, tears melting the blood from his cheeks, and a perpetual smile scarring his face.

And then Tim closed his eyes, curling into Dick's grip, his body still quivering in silent sobs. Tim Drake let a tiny, anguished laugh slip from his lips.

Life was a joke.

Batman wouldn't be around because he's off world.

I was on the Tim Drake tag on Tumblr, and I found a picture of Tim with a glasgow grin, and then I remembered what happened to Timmy Todd in Return of the Joker. I wanted to write about it in Young Justice, because Tim is kind of ignored a lot? I don't know why, he's a cutie.

Sooo, how'd I do? The Joker was weird to write. Usually when I read him in fanfics it doesn't feel right? Then again, YJ!Joker is pretty lame, so who cares. Tim was odd to write too. I know he's quiet, and smart, and most likely shy, but this is mostly his inner musings as he copes with his insanity and living with the Joker practically on top of him for... I don't know how long. That's up to your imagination, I guess.

Review, please? =]