It's been nine months.
He's been beaten, tortured, and degraded in more ways than he thought humanly possible. He no longer remembers what it feels like to wear clothes that aren't covered in grim and blood, sticking to his open wounds. He doesn't remember what it felt like to be able to move even the smallest limb without excruciating pain blazing through him. His skin is always cold and clammy, his eyes bloodshot, and his hair greasy and matted. He doesn't recall what it was like to be clean, to be whole.
Yet somehow, this newest pain is the worst. As the Joker stands over him, pressing a scalding iron into his cheek, Jason cannot bite back the horrible scream that is torn from his lips. The branding iron holds his head in place, so he cannot turn away from the sadistic grin leering down at him. His scream mixes in with Joker's deranged laughter, and the sound is more awful than any of Jason's relentless nightmares.
It's not the physical pain that makes this the worst thing Joker has done – he's gone through other tortures that have equaled it in that. It's the fact that now he can never be truly free from this horror. If by some miracle he ever does manage to escape this hell, it won't matter. The mark on his face will always be there to remind him of everything that has happened. Of the fact that he belongs to the Joker. Even if he does escape, the Joker will forever own his mind and soul.
It's this realization that makes Jason's scream continue on. Birthed from pain, the scream turns to one of denial and horror as the truth dawns on him. He is forever tainted, and anyone who sees his face now will know that.
He is so consumed by this thought that at first he doesn't even realize that Joker had pulled the brand away. The searing pain continues though, and now the cool air of the room brushes against the wound, stinging it. Jason flinches and moans pitifully, his eyes half-closed and unfocused as he lies limp and sprawled across the filthy floor.
"Well, that was fun!" the Joker exclaims cheerfully. "I must say, this is a vast improvement – you look much better than you did before, trust me! Plus, now if I happen to lose you, whoever finds you will know exactly who to return you to!" The Joker swung the cooling iron brand around in the air, whistling happily. "I'd love to stay, but unfortunately, I have some other things to attend to." Jason doesn't move. The Joker's grin only widens and he waves his hands in a mockingly polite gesture. "Please, don't get up; I'll just see myself out. Ta-ta!"
Jason continues to stare at the far wall, his gaze blank. The sound of the Joker's footsteps echo in Jason's ears as they make their way towards the room's iron door. The door creaks open and then slams shut, plunging the room into merciful silence.
The fire in Jason's cheek does not lesson as the minutes pass. Pain continues to spike in his body, and Jason cannot help the tears that leak from his eyes. They streak down his grimy cheeks and fall onto the concrete, forgotten.
"Bruce…"
His hope that Bruce would rescue him had died months ago. He knows that Batman isn't coming, that he no longer cares about Jason – if he had ever cared. Jason has been replaced – as the Joker seems so keen on repeatedly reminding him – and he can now see how little he had meant to the man he had once dared to think of as a father.
And yet, in the rare moments when he is completely alone, Jason can't help when sometimes Bruce's name slips past his swollen and cracked lips. He feels like a child when he says it, and every time anger shoots up in him that he has resorted to calling out for the one who abandoned him. Yet still his broken voice speaks the name.
Jason does not try to move. He learned long ago that there is no way out of this room, and at this point he doesn't care to try and escape. Where would he go? Who would he go to? He has nothing waiting for him beyond this hell, so why leave? Besides, he's sure he would pass out from the pain before even managing to sit up.
Distant screams sound from outside the room. Not an uncommon sound, as Joker has had other "guests" in this abandoned Arkham wing before. None of them have stayed as long as Jason though. But these screams – they sound different. More…panicked than pain-filled.
"Stop! Please! I don't know where the Joker is! He – he didn't say where he was going!"
"We – we were told to stay here! That's all!"
"Please! Don't!"
Jason's ears perk up in interest. He's certain those are Joker's goons shouting. He's become familiar with the voices of the ones who've managed to stay around longer than a couple of weeks. Which is rare, as Joker gets tired of using the same henchmen, and sometimes needs more than just Jason's torture to sate his easily brought on boredom. But Jason has never heard Joker's men sound like that before. In fact, that's the kind of panic that Jason associated with the criminals he and Batman would take down together…
The door to the room slams open. Jason's eyes blearily lift, expecting to see an enraged guard standing there to give him a beating simply because the guard needs to vent some anger. When his eyesight focuses, Jason's heartbeat speeds up in disbelief.
It can't be. It must be another hallucination. Or a dream. A bitter, mocking dream.
The vision of Batman stares down at Jason, completely still. It takes a hesitant step forward, and then rushes to Jason's side, kneeling beside the broken boy.
"Jason…" the hallucination whispers. Now Jason is certain that this is a dream, because the Batman he knew would never speak with such emotion. The Batman he knew wouldn't allow his voice to break on a simple name, and wouldn't allow his hands to shake as they reached towards Jason.
"No…please…" Jason whispers. He can't take another vision of Batman. Whether this Batman ends up beating him like he had in dreams before, or he carries Jason away to false safety…Jason can't handle it anymore. "Please…go 'way…"
"Jason, oh god…Jason," the hallucination says. Batman takes a shuddering breath. "Jason, it's me. It's Bruce."
"N-no…" mutters Jason. "Not real…you're not…"
"It's me, Jason," Batman insists. "I swear to you, I am real. I'm here, Jason. I'm here to take you home."
"No…" Jason sobs. Tears spill from his eyes. It's too much. He'd rather face another wrathful Batman in this nightmare than a kind, loving one. It's been so long since anyone had shown him affection that he has no idea what to do with it.
The hallucination grasps Jason's hand and presses it to its cheek. Jason feels warm flesh, sweat, and the leather of the familiar black cowl. He feels Batman's breath on his palm. Then the hallucination pulls back its mask, and there is the worn face of Bruce Wayne.
Jason had never seen Bruce's face in his dreams before. It had always been Batman. And he'd never seen Batman crying in his dreams. But Bruce is weeping now, and Jason can't help but sob along with him.
"I'm real, Jason," whispers Bruce.
"Bruce…" Jason chokes out. "Bruce…"
Bruce pulls Jason into his arms, halfway lifting Jason off of the blood-smeared floor. Jason cries out from the pain that radiates throughout his body, making Bruce flinch, but Jason does not resist. He lets himself sink into Bruce's arms as he sobs softly, too weak to do anything else.
"Shh…it's alright, Jason," Bruce says, stroking his son's blood-soaked hair. "It's alright."
"I'm…I'm so sorry. I-I didn't mean, I…please, Bruce. It's all my…I-I'm sorry…" Jason rambles, the words almost undiscernible through his sobbing. "Please…don't leave m-me. I don't want…"
"I'm never leaving you again, Jason," Bruce says, the words fervent in their honesty. "I promise. We're going right now."
Bruce pulls the cowl down over his face again and then slips his arms beneath Jason's back and knees. He stands, cradling Jason against his chest. Jason tries to hold back his cries of pain, but the agony is so overwhelming that he can't help the strained hiss that escapes his lips.
"We'll be home soon, Jason," Batman says. "Just hang on."
Lightheaded, Jason can't even find the strength to nod. As Batman walks out of the room the edges of Jason's vision begin to dim. He's incredibly dizzy now, and the pain is doing no favors in his attempts to focus. He barely registers that all of Joker's guards are lying sprawled out across the floor and against the walls. Batman must have done a thorough job, since they continue on without interruption.
Then Jason feels them ascending. The movements are too smooth to feel like he's being carried up a staircase, and Jason wonders if maybe he had dreamed up Bruce after all, only for his mentor…his father to carry him to heaven. Would he go to heaven? Would he be allowed in? The thought of anything else is too much for Jason to bear. Then he decides that the real hell can't be any worse than what he's endured for the past nine months. Still…he desperately hopes that he will be granted mercy.
He hears the sound of a plane – a small jet, perhaps? It's engine roars through the sky above them, and Jason feels the rush of cool air on his ruined skin. How odd, that heaven would have jets in it. Don't the angels have wings? He's sure that they do. But nothing quite makes sense to him anymore.
"Alfred, we're on our way."
Alfred? Is he dead too? A selfish part of Jason hopes he is. Then he'd have someone to keep him company, since he doubts Batman will bother staying by his side for much longer.
Before his thoughts can drift anymore, the darkness finally takes him and there is only silence.