6 years later
My parents were back in Arkham. I was used to it by now: on the run from the cops, getting food by any means. I was raised to survive.
My dad was good at coaxing desperate men; locksmiths included. My mother stole his keys one night and made copies, for which she was soundly beaten. However, I was still allowed to keep the keys, and I made use of many empty buildings.
I wasn't much of a decorator, but I managed to pull a mattress and a few blankets into a corner where I could curl up and play games. Being an insomniac, though, I preferred to take walks.
I meandered down dark streets; I traveled across slums and palaces alike. Gotham was quieter than it used to be; after all, its Clown Prince was locked away. It was cute how people slept peacefully thinking that their troubles had been detained.
I came near a dark alley; I peered in and stood quietly, watching four drunkards ganging up on two young females. Stealing was forgivable; murder could be forgivable. However, when it came to women, all I say in those girls' eyes was my mother, singing me to sleep.
I could have gone easier on the drunks. Unlike a vigilante, though, I was giving these men the chance of not going to jail, which was merciful.
The girls only stared at me, their eyes wide. The taller one, a redhead, stepped forward and composed herself, saying quickly, "You didn't have to do that."
"I didn't want them to hurt you both-"
"No, I mean beating them like that."
I stared at her, surprised. "What?"
"And why didn't you call the police? What if they wake up and attack us again?" She turned. "Jan, call the police now!"
The girl fearfully pulled out her phone, dialing quickly. The redhead turned back to me. "Who do you think you are, anyway?"
I grinned at her. "The guy who saved your life."
"What's your name?" she said irritably.
I considered this. My father hadn't told me his last name, and I certainly didn't like the one given to me. My parents never called me by name, anyway; they just called me J.J. Something about this girl told me that wasn't a sufficient answer, so I improvised.
"Jester."
She frowned. "What kind of name is that?"
Before I could answer, or even try to explain, I could sense someone watching us. I knew the Bat would have interceded long ago, so there was really only one other option. "Were you planning on assisting these ladies or perching in the wings until the trouble's past?"
There was a pause, and then Robin dropped down behind the redhead. "It looked like you had everything under control."
This was a different Robin now; he was darker, more intense and more willing to shed blood. Needless to say, he and I had reached more of an agreement than the last Robin had.
The girls took one look at him and swiftly informed him of their trials. I turned to leave, knowing that they had their hero and my job was done here. Robin didn't follow me; I didn't expect him to.
When I got back to the warehouse, though, someone was waiting for me.
"Welcome home," sneered a voice. A cruel chuckle followed, and I watched placidly as my father stood from his desk. "You know, J.J., you come from a very gifted household. However, heroism is not included among those gifts."
I wasn't surprised that he knew of my escapades, and I didn't implore on how he escaped Arkham so quickly. I simply shrugged at him.
"You really shouldn't be sticking your nose in places it doesn't belong, J. Did you know that girl was the daughter of Police Commissioner Gordon?"
"No."
"No. Of course not." He lifted the bat and it pounded into my skull. I went down quickly, standing just as fast as my head swam. "I send out a few men to kidnap that girl and you ruin it!"
I winced under the sting of the bat; I grabbed the nearest object, which was a lamp, and brought it crashing over my father's head. He remained standing, snarling. He threw aside the bat, and I dropped my lamp.
My mother entered to find us locked in battle; she left us that way.
After we had both nearly passed out, we stood facing each other, growling like feral animals. Suddenly, blood dripped from my father's mouth; he lifted his hand wiped away the trail of red, examining the blood on his hand. Suddenly, he started laughing.
My father's laughs were genuine, no matter how unsettling. Despite myself, I joined in, and soon the warehouse rang with our laughter.
After another round, Joker eyed me and announced, "I'm giving you a second chance, J; by tomorrow night, I better find Barbara Gordon in that cage." He indicated said cage. "If not, you won't survive our next fight."
I laughed. He called it a fight, but it was really a beating. However, for him, it was a generous and appealing offer. I walked past him to the bathroom and washed my face, glaring at myself in the mirror.
I had my father's angular face, but I had my mother's blue eyes. Freckles dotted my face, but already they were starting to fade with growth. I was almost as tall as the first Robin, which I noted during our last tussle; I was slightly less muscular.
There was something deeper in my appearance, though; the presence of chaos, raised in a broken home. Why didn't I run away? I was impulsive and brash, but I wasn't foolish. I knew I couldn't leave my mother alone with him. At least while they were in Arkham, they were separated.
I turned and closed the door. I didn't approve of kidnapping, but if I did it, maybe she wouldn't have to get hurt.
As I trotted back out into the night, I wondered vaguely at what sick justification I had created.
